Foggy morning after a long rain,

she does the scales on her new mandolin

I lay in bed with furs draped over me

heavy and warm

keeping me dry as the yurt’s little leaks

show themselves.

Water your orchids with rain water

says Annalise with the rose gardens.

And the fog creeps up again from the valley below,

onto the deck

through the little cracks

of exquisite imperfection.

As Thanksgiving approaches, the following quotation will help keep me grounded in all that I have to be thankful for . . .  despite my perfectionistic tendencies.

“Better to do something imperfectly than to do nothing flawlessly.”  — Robert H. Schuller

there’s a breaking point for everything.
             comfort never stays comfortable
at some point an unwanted feeling comes in
                         wears out it’s welcome.
            boredom, restlessness..or just
wanting
   more – there’s a moment      a point
                       when things Flat Line.                    need Life
      resuscitate me -        bring me Back        to Life.   Feel alive
when I am walking on the Line of almost Dead
     i could Die at any moment
   the tension
where my soul feels
        like she’s at the border of Crossing
Over past limitations and confinement of this physical
body. This skin
      barrier stops her – yet she
tries to convince constantly

i used to wear joy like a borrowed coat
it didn’t fit quite right, always wondering if
others saw sleeves too long, bunched up
it was old and worn, slightly out of style
often got hung up on the rack in the entry
but then i remembered, we all arrive naked
coats and clothes are just an afterthought
meant to keep us warm

often function is forgotten
dress to impress attitude feels empty, cold
gray coats of sorrow draining color from soul
all the well-fitting suits like heavy heart armor
hurt attached at sleeve

i took the ensemble to the cleaners
now preserved in plastic wrap
pulled joy with silly bright patterns off the rack
shrugged it back on, no more imperfect than me

as i dance in the streets some tatters fall away
creating need for mending, pieces tucked in pocket
looking up i catch a glimpse of other coats of joy
twirling through the crowd, with closer observation
an unfolding vision of multicolored patches
gave in friendship rich as gold

She glances from across the counter, and her eyes, her perfect, green eyes, hold still. They blink slowly, the pillow of dark chestnut lashes fan out and upwards like a thick plumage of palm leaves. Glossy. Curved. Perfect.

What would it be like to press my index finger to their tip…and press down gently on that fan of curvature? I wonder silently. Would those little, useless pieces of hair succumb to my will, then spring back to their natural, perfected state? I wonder if they are soft…like mine. I love doing that to mine, except they are straight and fine and very stubborn. Sometimes for no reason in particular, I’ll hold out my index finger, line it up straight and parallel to my eye just under my lashes, and blink. Each bend of each lash sends a tiny jolt to its base, hidden in the crevice of the upper rim of my eye, and the sensation expands, the way a warm gulp of mulled wine seeps down my throat and permeates every single pore in winter. It makes me feel alive, the awareness of each blink. It’s the closest to being able to feel my thoughts forming.

I blink a lot, it occurred to me, especially when I’m anxious.

“Nice color.” The Perfect Green Eyes motions to my fingertips, now tapping unconsciously on the marbled surface. “What’s that? Fuchsia? Fuchsia’s in this year. It’s all over the runway.” She waves her hand nonchalantly, as if shooing away a non-existent fly.

“It’s pink…berry, maybe.” I blink.

“Huh.” Those eyes again. There are some kind of gold speckles in it. I make a mental note to self. Is that what people call hazel?

“Don’t last very long though huh?” She waves again. ”I hate chipped nail polish, so annoying.”

…..A wave of severe indifference suddenly overcomes me. I will my face to stay still.

“And I like what you did to your hair, you know, that streak thing.” The Green Eyes flash, a glint of glee, I imagine.

“It was red.” I hear myself say. “Then orange, and now it’s kind of blond.”

“Huh.”

“My hair doesn’t hold color well.” I shrug.

“That must be annoying.” The Green Eyes blink again, and a smile curls up the corner of her perfectly plump, pink lips.

I want to laugh. But I don’t want to seem crazy.

“Actually, I kind of like it.” I feel a grin forming. It just creeps up my cheek like when you know you are about to tell a really funny joke, but you have to pretend that you don’t know. You know?

“Well, it’s certainly interesting. Not like my hair, it’s just always this boring red color.” She tosses her long, wavy, crimson tresses behind her shoulder. They are glorious, and she knows it.

“You can’t say you aren’t colorful.” The grin broadens, and it tickles.

The Green Eyes pause, then widen, and a trail of laughter spills out of those pink lips. Pitch-perfect.

She looks back one last time, those perfect green eyes flashing, and flips those god damn perfect hair again like she surely has done many times before. “Well, have a good day!”

“I will.” My smile now full-blown and I’m not even trying. “You too.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the guys behind me in line following her figure appreciatively with their gazes as she makes her way towards the door.

I reach into my hair and search for the faded strand of ashy blond. I can’t see. But I feel it.

Winding it around my left index finger, a deep breath escapes that I didn’t even realize I was holding. A wave of relief washes over me.

And just like that, a trail of laughter spills out of my plain, espresso-stained lips, and bounces off the ivory, smooth walls.

Matthew 5:43-48 (New King James Version)

Love Your Enemies

⁴³ “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor^[a]and hate your enemy.’ ⁴⁴ But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you,^{[b] 45} that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.⁴⁶ For if you love those who love you, what reward have you? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? ⁴⁷ And if you greet your brethren^[c] only, what do you do more than others? Do not even the tax collectors^[d] do so? ⁴⁸ Therefore you shall be perfect, just as your Father in heaven is perfect.

We humans are by no means perfect! We make mistakes, we sin, we fall. Yet, as Christians, we are given the chance to be made perfect. I feel that there are so many opinions on what this means, and my history teacher was completely wrong in all of his explanations in my history class yesterday. We can not gain salvation ourselves. The only way we can receive salvation is through Christ and the blood He shed for us. The only way we are able to get to this Eternal Place of Rest is through Him. It is because of His grace that we are able to go to Heaven. Nothing we do here on earth will earn us a place there. Now, this is not to say that we should be dilly-dallying, doing all these things which are displeasing to God. What we do may not earn us a place in Heaven, however, it is important that we do the things we believe. “Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” (James 2:17) We need faith and we need works. We can’t have one without the other; they work off of each other. It is vital that we follow God’s commandments, but that is because He loves us and died for us and has given us a place in heaven, not in order to get into heaven. What is most important is having a relationship with God. Naturally, when we have that relationship with God, we follow His commandments and we do what He desires, and when we are close to God, we experience Him more and become more and more like Him, and He will make us perfect. Only He can make us perfect. Rely on Him, not on what you think you can do.

“Who Am I” by Casting Crowns is the epitome of this message

God bless.

Pray for those who are spreading Christ’s word and love and for those striving to find Him.

Marina.

Please Pray for the Following:

Mike Ibrahim

My Family

Today, I was in charge of running lunch.

Lunch is a horrendous affair, sometimes.  The entire eighth and ninth grades sit down to eat together, six or seven students to a table, and a faculty member or two with them.  It’s one of my daily duties to decide when dessert gets put out, and to make sure all the tables are clear at the end of the meal.  I also am responsible for decorum and discipline at lunch during the meal, and for assigning students to be Waiters – each responsible for clearing one table.  Skipping line, table manners, wasting food, and all the rest…

Ordinarily, I do a very good job with this duty.  Today was… well… an exception.  There were mitigating circumstances — I was away from campus last night, and I didn’t get the e-mail that I was subsitute-teaching for one of my absent colleagues first period until 90 minutes before classes started. That meant I truncated my own morning preparations a lot.  I didn’t walk the dog or feed her.  I didn’t go through my morning exercises.  I didn’t have a cup of coffee until almost 9 am.  I didn’t have breakfast.  The period before lunch ran just a little long, and I didn’t get to lunch in time to “show the flag” and let students know I was there and watching.

Turns out it was Mexican chicken wraps…  a flour burrito wrap, with some pieces of spicy chicken in them, and then a do-it-yourself (DIY) bar of salsa, lettuce, cheese, sour cream, onions and other fixins’. Very popular with the students and adults.  It was a very hectic meal.

Two minutes before the bell is supposed to ring to end the meal, and before we all troop off to our next class, I find that there are a lot of empty seats.  Oh no, I think.  Popular dessert on top of popular main meal? Disaster. I have a lot of announcements because of the possibility of bad weather this afternoon — possible changes to the sports schedule.

A quick examination reveals that the dessert line has stretched out of the serving area into the lobby of the dining hall.  But students — who! are! eating! and! drinking! in! the! serving! area! — are skipping to the head of the line, grabbing their brownies, and dashing away to eat them.

No hesitation on my part.  I grab the first three kids I see skipping ahead of the 35 people in line, and pull them and their grubby, grabby little hands out of the brownies.  I start yelling at them for their atrocious behavior, and exceptionally bad manners.

One of the kids in the line taps me gingerly on the shoulder.

“Mr. Watt… they weren’t cutting in line.” He’s clearly nervous, but standing up for what’s right, and I’m proud of him for that even as I absorbe what he’s telling me. “They’re just getting dessert.  We —” and here he waves at the long line stretching behind him, “are waiting for more chicken wraps.”

The chef looks at me and shrugs. “We ran out. Popular meal today.”

I apologize to the students I’ve just wronged, but my apology is still laced with anger. Not good. I slink back to my usual place near the dining hall bell, feeling shamed.  A few words from This Day In History — World War I, eleventh hour, eleventh minute, and all that.

We expect teachers to be perfect, in a lot of ways. To keep their patience, to hold a child’s attention for hours, to manage paperwork, to deliver cogent advice, to observe, to connect, to analyze and synthesize, and above all to be perfect models of what good adults should be.

On this occasion, though, I wasn’t any of those things.  I didn’t take the 30 seconds it would have taken to read the situation.  I saw only the broken rules of the dining hall; the rules I’ve made it my business and duty to notice and enforce… but a situation that looked bad only looked bad — it wasn’t actually bad.  And this sort of thing happens at least a few meals a year.

I miss it almost every time.

It’s taken me a long time to learn how to do and be all those things reasonably successfully on a day-to-day basis, often for weeks or months at a time.   So why is it that when I lose my cool and drop the ball, it feels so much like a massive and irreparable failure?

My first sewn item of clothing

So here it is.  The first product of my sewing skills.  I’ve made a couple of piecing-together-squares blankets but I hadn’t ever ventured into the depths of clothing, regardless of the the four or five books I had in my apartment.  But with the sharp increase of free time brought on by the cardiac stuff, I picked up a new hobby and opened up the pattern book.

The picture in the book looks pretty much like this one.  I was so happy when I sewed the shoulder sleeves and collar and slipped it over my head and realized that once I sewed the side seams, I would have not only a dress–but a dress that fit.  That I made.  That I could be proud of.

There are mistakes.  The edge stitching does not match up on the armholes on one sleeve.  But unless you’re looking at my armpit, you can’t tell.  There’s a bit of interfacing visible at the seam, but unless you’re checking for a tag, you can’t see it.  I could probably have trimmed the excess fabric on seams better.  Or figured out how to use bias tape (which I had forgotten to buy anyway).  And my improved reverse applique patch of a bird, well, the head’s a little funky.

But it’s still pretty damn cool if I do say so myself.  All yesterday evening, after finishing the dress, I kept looking at it and thinking, “I made that.  I can’t believe that I actually made that.” It made me quite happy, mistakes and all.

In my recent entries, there’s been a lot of debating–should we name eating disorders, should we wear supplement t-shirts, should we do this or that . .  .  The only thing I can offer through this blog is my experience.  I can tell you what I did and what worked and what didn’t work for me.  These things will not hold true for everyone.  Even though I may start a sentence with “I truly believe that” doesn’t make it true for everyone.  If something totally contradictory to what I write about works for you, do it.

There is no right way to recover.  There are no perfect journeys.  We all will  make mistakes an stumble from time to time.  But if you get up and keep heading in the same direction, you have a good shot at succeeding.

Step 4:  Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.  What?  I did something wrong?  I thought it was the alcoholic that did all the bad behaviors; but alas, it is step 4 and I must take a close look at it.  Taking a close look at myself was not the easiest thing in the world to do, especially since I had a strong desire to seek the truth,  which meant asking my Higher Power to reveal all to me.  In Step 1 true I admitted I was a little insane, in Step 3 I was ready to turn my will over to my Higher Power and let Him be in charge. Step 4 rocked my world.  My Higher Power revealed so much to me, even about the horrible way I treated the alcoholic in my life.  I will make no excuse for his behavior, but I am not looking at the alcoholic’s behavior, I am looking at mine.  I had some deep seeded character defects, that although may have been strengthened by the alcoholic, they were mine to begin with or I would not have been able to use them so effectively in my life.  I took a deep honest look at myself and saw a lot of things that I didn’t like. 

Step 5:  Admitted to God, ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.  Ok, I admitted to God…that was kind of easy because He already knew all of my wrongs.  He saw them when I didn’t.  Admitted to myself that I had done wrong….hard to swallow but I could clearly see where I was wrong.  Admitted to another human being?????  Oh my God, say it isn’t so.  Tell me I don’t have to say out loud the flawed human being that I am.  Tell me that I don’t have to admit that I held resentments over stupid things but those resentments were still affecting my life.  Ok, what did I have to lose.  My life was already unmanageable, I might as well share it with another [trusted] person.  I shared my multitude of flaws with my sponsor.  Oh my God, what a flood of relief flowed over me when she too admitted that she had done some of the same things that I had done and thought some of the same things that I had thought.  I was not unique.  I was a victim of the disease of alcohol and there was hope for my recover.  My hope was written and in living color in the life of my sponsor.  No, she was not my Higher Power, but she was a channel for Him at times and I thank her for being His vessel.

Step 6.  Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.   Yes, I am ready.  I want to be free of those flaws that make me less useful to  my Higher Power and even more useless to those I could help in the here and now.  I was entirely ready to have all my character defects turn into the opposite of what I am today.  I was ready to relinquish my controlling attitude to rely on my Higher Power.  I know that it may not happen all the time, but I know that He is there to do just that when I allow him…..when I don’t think I know more than my Creator.

Step 7.  Humbly asked Him to remove all our shortcomings.  Yes, I asked him to remove my shortcomings, but I didn’t grovel.  I stood before him as his creature knowing that His love endures forever.  I knew that He had loved me, both good and bad throughout my life; I just didn’t think I was worthy.  I am worthy.  I am a child of my Higher Power.  If I love my children and can forgive them, how much more can my Higher Power forgive me.

Step 8.  Made a list of all the persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.  My list had been written when I wrote my 4th step inventory.  Minus a few people who I held resentments towards but never harmed them, my list was set.  All I h ad to do now was be willing to go to them face to face and tell them I was wrong, how I had wronged them (if doing so would not hurt them or others), and ask if they could think of other ways I had harmed them.  I had to keep my mouth shut and let the venom flow from their lips if there was any and admit that they were right (if indeed they were right) or admit they could possibly be right or I’m sorry you feel that way (if what they said was not in tune to my OPEN spirit.)  Then I asked how I could set the record straight…how could I make these things I had done to them right?  Pretty easy step….a walk in the park… a piece of cake……  NOT. 

Step 9. Made direct amends to such people whenever possible, except when to do so would injure or harm them.  I am progress of my 9th step.  I can tell you that although I thought this would be gut wrenching (and yes, I have cried over a few of my amends), it is a freeing experience.  I got things off my chest and was able to once again look at myself…and more importantly, move closer to my Higher Power.  I have a few more amends to make, some will be harder than others, and some will come in a letter that I will read to someone else or at a gravesite.  In many ways I feel like I am walking past tombs of open rotting flesh, but my Higher Power is healing all those tombs.

May I have the strength to complete the work my Higher Power has started in me.

Be patient with everyone,
but above all with yourself.
I mean, do not be disheartened by your imperfections,
But always rise up with fresh courage.
How are we to be patient in dealing with our neighbors’ faults
if we are impatient in dealing with our own?
He who is fretted with his own failings will not correct them.
All profitable correction comes from a calm, peaceful mind.
- St. Francis de Sales

***

Sei geduldig mit allen,

aber vor allem mit dir selbst.

Ich meine, sei nicht entmutigt durch deine Unvollkommenheiten,

sondern stelle dich ihnen mit neuem Mut.

Wie können wir geduldig sein im Umgang mit den Fehlern unserer Nachbarn,

wenn wir ungeduldig sind im Umgang mit unseren eigenen?

Wer sich über sein eigenes Versagen aufregt, wird es nicht korregieren können.

Alle hilfreiche Korrektur kommt aus einem ruhigen, friedlichen Geist.

- St. Francis de Sales

]]> http://trip2southafrica.wordpress.com/2009/11/04/mystery/ Wed, 04 Nov 2009 22:50:05 +0000 reneastorga http://trip2southafrica.wordpress.com/2009/11/04/mystery/

The Mysterious One

_________________

Brai at “the “beach”
Brai (BR – I — as in “aye” captain!)

My face was burnt. not to a crisp… but it is burned.
It was burned… but there was no ensuing tan.

Apparently the sun in Africa shines harder than other places. I mean, you know… more than the normal amount of heat that you feel from the sun. But I suppose that is due entirely the fact that California, *whispers* “the land of my love”, is such a perfect climate that I shall never enjoy any other sun. A few hours in the sun proved to kill my cheeks, just underneath my eyes. Sting. That’s a good word for it.

But on the bright side to Monumental things happened, though they did not seem so exuberant as they were happening.

One thing is that I touched the Indian ocean. Truly something I never thought I would be doing. It wasn’t as warm as they say, at least not in South Africa. We took a walk to the beach right after we ate, and we seriously could have been in Santa Cruz. I walked into an ice cream shop only to hear another american totally getting bashed on for being american. Kind of stunk at first. But they apologized and we all had an awkward, but good, laugh about it. But the point is… I never in my life thought I would be touching, seeing, smelling, soaking in the Indian ocean. It smelled exactly the same as everywhere else I’ve been.

Two.

I had a dream in January of 2008 that the world was ending. There was a massive flood and series of events leading up to that one large surge of water upon the land… but the end is what has always gripped me the most about this dream.

Everything had ended. The water had subsided. It was like everything was made new. – - – And I found myself walking along a body of water. With the waves coming upon the shore very softly. Lapping.

There was golden and green grass on a very soft earth and sand mix. It was peaceful. Just walking along side. I don’t remember if anyone was there with me or not. But that part may have just come true. Or at least it points to it some how.

As we were walking to the beach on Saturday (10-31-09) I walked along a peaceful body of water… everything was the same except for the side that the dream happened on. In the dream it was on the right, but when this happened, the water was on my left. But peaceful… yes.

I really don’t know what to make of times when i find myself living what I dreamed about years ago. I don’t know how to explain why I have dreams of coming events… at least in my life. I don’t claim to be a prophet to the nations or anything, but these dreams and precipitations happen more often than I really think about. Which makes some of my dreams that affect me enough to think they mean something very, very scary for me.

I think I will not only pay attention to my dreams… but pray more often… But now there is another reason for that…

Friday, 30 October 2009.
The day of particular poopiness…

But in my desperation I called out to God. And he heard me.

In my desperation and hatred of the situation I was put in I left the house the first moment I could. I just got in a taxi to run an errand to a large Costco® like store. We were buying office supplies.

They were talking with someone getting a temporary card for this club store, and the person they were talking to (Lionel) decided he would write me a note.

“The Lord is about to bring forth tremendous changes in your life. Visions will be on the increase. dreams will be on the increase. Don’t be afraid where the Lord Jesus, will pour out on you. Embrace what  He’s about to give. Don’t be afraid. Believe He’s faithful.”

I have a hard time believing that God will actually do this with me… but have you heard my dreams before??? I have them often. And supposedly now… they will be more often.

Church In The Park

It was super windy on sunday. Absolutely windy. really… like i’ve never experienced it before. Seriously… like something amazing. The wind blew pretty hard all.day.long. Nothing else will do as a word. It just blew.

The problem with that is that the wind is actually strong enough to pick up small particles of stuff (mostly sand) and carry it with it. In this process there is much sand everywhere you go here… there is also much face whipping. My Sun burnt face… stung most of the day because of this.

But the not so big problem/miracle that happened was that a bunch of people despite the cold and the wind stayed. And on top of that they made the call to salvation. I was so amazed my hands stopped hurting fora  few moments. Which leads me into a very personal thing that no one really knows about me…

When it’s cold… my hand hurt. And it was torture playing out there. Really. Playing piano was suffering for souls this time around. I was mad. And I started to think things like the leaders here don’t care about me or about what I feel like and all that stuff that can go through a person’s head when something doesn’t go in their favor!

…I also put myself to sleep when I’m playing worship music… that is… when I’m tired and sleep deprived to begin with. In college I would practice my important pieces and immediately feel like taking a nap. So often my rehearsal turned into a time of “recharging”. This happened on several occasions. To this day – and it can be proven by testimonials – it happens.

Guitar

Unlike the popular “strong bad email” (Search for Guitar) – which really… only a bunch of nerds know about – I am unable mash my fingers way up on the little strings and make the “meedly meedly” sound – BUT!!! I am a capable guitar player.

Many of my previous “struggle” writings could have easily been avoided if I had just been selfish and brought my guitar instead of a keyboard! But I decided to go with the more noble deed.

Guitar, since I was in college, has been one of my closest friends besides Jesus. Closer even than any friends that could actually speak and process emotion… that is until I met Loreena. But the guitar is still like my hiding place. It’s a place i can run to and feel comforted because i know that I can not only relax by playing music… but draw close to God.

If there has been one really hard thing to suffer with is not having a guitar at my hand to comfort me in desperate situations. But alas those days are over.

The Lord has shown His face on me. (Shown is and archaic form the past tense of Shine – and if you really want to get into it, it’s kind of like the past and present tense at the same time! God began to shine his face on me, and continues to do so even as I “pen” these words)

This week just enough money – no more, no less – was given to me as a blessing. R500 was handed to me from heaven.

I did not pray for a guitar. But God knew my heart. God saw my desperation and blessed me with one. Something I never really expected or asked for, but wanted none the less, maybe even needed, has been provided. This is just divine. No other word or situation can explain it. It was just enough money to purchase that guitar.

It’s a classical guitar to boot!

All to say… that this week has been one incidence of sheer divinity after another! Miracles that could never have happened are taking place in my life at an all time high!

And that’s without a ton of detail.

PRAISE THE LIVING GOD!!!

THE ONLY GOD WHO WAS, AND IS, AND IS TO COME!!!

THE ONE WHO SPOKE AND ALL THINGS WERE CREATED!

PRAISE GOD!

PRAISE GOD!

It’s nearly unbelievable. It’s uncanny. It’s perfect in timing. It’s soo… perfect.

At a moment when I really wanted to quit. At a moment when I thought I could go no further in sacrifice. At a moment when I thought I could trust God no longer… Such strange and mysterious happenings are happening. They are awe inspiring and cause peace to well deep within me.

____________________

COMING SOON!!!

The Account of Johannesburg.

…Victory Outreach is being used to change the world as we know it. God knew what he had in mind with this ministry.

today i went to the beach with my love… and i was thinking of the craziness that love is… and how it’s the strangest things that we appreciate about the people we love… like today, dre used his hands to create a sun-dial to see what time it was… (i believe this came from his boy scout days)… i love that! it was the most amazing thing i’ve ever seen him do.  and in the car on the way home we were listening to Salt-n-Pepa’s “Push It” and he was like “listen…listen to the cow bell… that’s what makes the song sexy.” lol!!!!! those are the things that years from now i’ll look back on and smile. or the other day when i had all my jewelry out on the counter that i had worn the night before and he turned the pieces artistically into a smiley face… or the times when i’m sad and he’ll slow dance with me to no music. nothing is perfect. no one is perfect. but love is perfect.. even within the imperfection of us as human beings… our love is perfect.

“i love u the way billie bends her notes- fearlessly… and with loving intention, i gaze at u the way stevie sees music… and with feeling in amazement of ur genius, i dream of u in a level of consciousness that the enlightened monk meditated for years to find… my heart recognized ur soul and it was love at 1st encounter...” from my diary date unknown…

How many people nowadays are truly, honestly happy, with their happiness shining through every moment of their lives, not only for themselves, but especially for others? Nowadays, happiness seems to be measured by the amount of material possessions, the quality of marriage and professional life, and the well-being of the children. Of course these can be excellent sources of happiness. But the question remains: what exactly is the core of happiness truly about? Perhaps someone who is truly happy is someone who is at peace with the contradictions he’s confronted with, within himself and the world. Everything that is, is at its heart as it should be and can only be accepted as being as it is. Good, bad, light, dark, male, female, warm, cold, all these are aspects of a reality which, at its heart, is utterly incomprehensible; aspects which cannot be derived from each other, but which are inevitably and vitally entwined. Life is always what it Is and, much more often than not, not what we would like it to be. That does not mean Man is a completely helpless victim of some all-pervading, predetermined fate. No, it means that each moment we are given the choice to accept the things we already have at that moment, or to keep grieving over how things might have been. Even if we are utterly poor outwardly and physically disabled, we are still alive, so each day we are still given the chance to rejoice the graceful creativity and immense abundance of Life, erupting out of each moment.

The things you have are what they are, and it’s up to you to find the fertile seeds of inner growth within them, no matter how dark they might appear to be. Yet, difficult as it may often be to reconcile us with whatever Life has to offer, reconciliation also means an acceptance of our imperfections. Man falls and falls and falls, yet each time he has been given the chance to get up again and have another chance. Perhaps we should more often celebrate the chances we get after each mistake and stop complaining about the pain of our fall. Making mistakes, being imperfect is alright, because it is as it Is; our innate nature compels us to be flawed and make mistakes forever again because they are the vital ploughs going through the hardened, dark soil under our feet, so air and rain could penetrate its obscure depths. Contemporary humanity tends to strive after perfection in an attempt to eliminate our flaws and failures, our sickness and suffering, yet this attempt leads to an artificial world full of newly created tensions in which modern man is haunted by his more natural, imperfect side. He often fails to see that flaws, inner pain and suffering are like life-giving rains on the parched plains of his soul; they only appear as arid winds because he rejected and never really acknowledged their existence in the first place.

Without the moisture of our flaws creeping through the deep fissures within the fertile Earth, no seeds would be given the chance to germinate and grow into the beautiful flower hidden within its unknown essence. To a great extent, a soil is only as dark and dry as we allow it to be. Tasting the fearful mists of our innate struggles means cultivating a healing perspective in the long term, a perspective in which Man is not forced anymore to strive after perfection, but a perspective which teaches him he’s a vessel of human contradictions, necessary for his inner growth, his inner meaning and even his very survival. It’s a perspective which might create the much needed shift of attention from a destructive perfection to a healing wholeness. Perhaps then he learns to see his flaws, his inner pains and his wrestle with the world as an act of kneading and molding the raw earthy darkness of his mind in an attempt to weave his first humble footstep, his first genuine Creation, his first genuine attempt to break the mirror of his often superficial fixations; attempts which usually fail if attention remains fixed on the shell of pain instead of its core of healing potential.

Flaws are perhaps our deepest and most humbling resources to understand what Life is about; they might even be God’s best attempt to pour Himself out of this jar, this soul each one of us was given. Perhaps happiness entails becoming friends with one’s own flaws and the realization that one has merely just begun this journey of a thousand miles. Instead of being unhappy with the idea that he has not reached perfection yet, Man should rather start seeing his imperfection as a gift, because an imperfect soul is a flower impatiently waiting for the first spring sun so she can open herself up to the world and grow, and grow! An imperfect soul, above all, longs for being carried on Man’s back across the dark, cold and lonely marshes of the Depth to become an agent of spiritual nurturing instead of the victim of prejudiced, ignorant repression.

When Man befriends his flaws, he’d start feeling the soft winds of genuine Humanity blowing in his eroded face; winds sailing to him from beyond the horizon, carrying the subtle scents of Virtue which burns heavily within his deep, invisible core, waiting to grow into an endless river of Compassion. His own inner struggle and pain thus becomes the mediator for the growth of genuine Virtues. Thanks to his persistence and his surrendering to all his inner pains and suffering, he can now start Living the paradox he truly Is. The confrontation with the deep pain hidden within the core of so many conflicts, traumas and obstacles might have scarred his ego heavily, but on a deeper level, the pain becomes the fertilizer for the soul’s barren meadows, sprayed by the innocent hand of a lone wanderer, the awakened pilgrim now roaming again these unknown, fertile lands of old. Instead of fighting or fleeing the inner pain, he welcomes it, because it makes him painfully aware of his inner reality, this eternally swirling waltz of light and dark, out of which all Creation comes forth. Flaws, imperfections, inner pain and suffering might seem quite disturbing at first sight, but through their great healing power, they tend to make one generally more aware of one’s soul. Awareness leads to relativity, which itself leads to forgiveness, receptivity, kindness and a deep compassion with humanity. Humility blooms while he learns to accept others as they are, full of light hues and dark shades, just like he discovered within himself. The deeper he confronts, accepts and comes to terms with his own innate imperfections, the deeper and the more genuine the empathy flows out of him towards other people, replacing the old patterns of incomprehension and paranoia. In his utter solitude, he weeps over other people’s misery as if their misery is his own. But he is happy now, deeply at peace with his inner suffering, immensely grateful for its continuing blessings as it lets him further grow in humility and respect towards the Great Mystery which allowed him to follow this path in the first place; a path which is now truly of his own making. In the end, every path towards the realization of one’s innate paradox leads to a feeling of deep Self-value which can grow to become a freeing bridge, reconnecting the struggling soul with the living certainty of the Mystery he truly Is, that Being called “Human” under whose roof the Divine is housed.

How wonderful would it be to be born in this world as a naturally imperfect human being amidst other imperfect human beings, rather than a “perfect” human being striving after even more perfection to compete with the rest of humanity, which always appears to consist of other, even more perfect human beings. How could there ever be peace in such an artificial world?!

How wonderful would it be to be born in a giant field of flowers, each with their own little dark shades, yet each of them wildly dancing on the tones of a playful wind. If only we’d be more receptive to this healing perspective rather than forcing us to be born in an arid desert where the mortal fear of one’s shadow once became a heat wave of massive proportions, burning everything on its path. The wind retreated back beyond the horizon, the flowers curled back into their seeds and the wells of life were driven back into their dark caves below the Earth.

Oh Heavenly songs of old! When will your lights shine again visibly across the depths of the sea, the heights of the land and the hearts of the people? Why aren’t your symphonies being read anymore by a cup of tea in the silence of dawn, while its gentle light paints the first fragrant flowers of the day? Why is your serenity broken by the monotone hum of dead steel and grey concrete? Your songs resound like water droplets, falling through the foliage, longing to be a mantle protecting us against the bleak northern winds.

And yet..

Yet your whispers can still be heard during those countless little divine moments which happen each day, unknowingly to us, for if we would actually realize them, we would be shattered to pieces by the brilliance of their Divinity.

Oh Heavenly songs of old!

How beautiful your whispers are seen within the first gaze between two soul mates who, once born out of the same stardust, now face each other again after billions of years, somewhere on an unknown train speeding towards an unknown destination. Every gesture of evading glances, faltering words and blushing smiles is an eruption of inkless poetry on the vast lands of their timeless silence, spreading its hot lava between these divine moments of old.

Oh Heavenly songs of old!

Such Beauty and

such tragedy in this world!

Drums pound.
The world is dark
save for the moon
and the clouds
moving too fast
across its face

Hours pass and years
mistakes are written
and erased, written and erased
and rewritten again.
Life fritters away
to nothing but
a dozen or so
cheap party tricks
without punch line or
any discernible moral value
and what it all comes down to
in the end
is how many times you’ve
held your breath
and prayed for
a single moment to last
for all the rest
of the moments
you have left.

Isn’t that living?

Here is my pick this week for today’s new PostSecrets.  I’ve always believed that people people’s imperfections make them beautiful. Universal perfection does not exist; everyone has their own version of perfect.  So I see imperfections as perfection.  We are all human, we are all unique.  We are all special.

            If everything were perfect and right in the world, we’d never seek God.  I’d never have gone inward and found my art, my dreams and my insights.  Finding the beauty inside me was God’s will, not mine.  I thank God for caring about my well-being, first and foremost. 

            In my imperfection sometimes I need to scrape myself up off the ground and try, and not stop trying whether I succeed or fail.  Because trying, in and of itself  increases self-esteem.  Trying means living.

I don’t like to think that I get stuck in the past, but I just can’t shake it.

I still have the heartache I held. I go over the situation again and again everyday. I don’t know how to get rid of it. I see the little stick that changed my life. I see my mom cry when she finds out I want to be a mommy. I hear his voice saying “we will do this together’. But are we?

And then, I see her. That little whore who stole my dream. I know I was a bit optomistic, and it probably would have happened anyways but I can’t help but wonder if I will ever be able to shake the fact that a relationship that I believed in so much died. And what’s worse is that it keeps dying- not like from a romantic one but just a relationship in general. It’s hard for me to trust my kid’s dad with anything. And it sucks. It fucking sucks. There’s a pain I can’t get rid of and it derives because he was too much of a dick to stay loyal. He couldn’t keep a single god damn promise.

But here it goes. He met this girl, and I don’t even like to say her name. Mainly her name is “her” to me. But I know he enjoyed being around her and I began to question their fondness of each other. But then he started  lying. And they still echo in my ears. He would tell me “funny mishaps” of what would happen between them. And it pierced me, kind of like when his child would kick my ribs. And it was upsetting. I told him of things I wanted to do and it turned out he would rather do nothing with me- but then take her out to do the exact said things I wanted. He kept seeing her more, going out of his way to see her, and then he would kiss her. All the while watching his baby grow and kept telling me he would marry me. What an idiot I was. And yeah, I am bitter. I am bitter that I didn’t get married. I am bitter I am single. I am bitter I was cheated on and lied to again. I am bitter that it was Her. I am bitter that I may have to explain to my son why mommy and daddy aren’t married and don’t live together.

And when he came clean, I accepted him- hoping he wouldn’t do it again. Once again, I was dumb. He did it again. So I left. I left so that I wouldn’t hurt anymore. I couldn’t trust him. And then he lied to me once more. Told me he was done with her. Told me he threw all of her fucking love notes and bull shit out. And I caught him talking to her, and found the remains of the lies in his closet. I screamed. I cried. I told him how much I hated him. And he still wonders why I can’t trust him. He still wonders why I won’t kiss him.  And he wonders why I prefer others over him. He wonders why I look pained when I see him, when he looks me in the eye, he can see me hurting. I lie all the time, tell everyone it doesn’t bother me.

He tries to “make it up to me” but then ends up dissapointing once again. He tells me that we did things like get coffee, look around the mall or barnes n noble and when I don’t say anything, he does realize that it wasn’t me he was with. It never was me. I was just the girl he fucked- that he said he loved- but let’s face it, he was talking with his dick. He just needs to grow up. Yeah go ahead do the things you said you would do with me, but there is a 99% chance that it won’t change the relationship status. Try and win over my trust, I fucking dare you.

But I still dream about it. Dream of the “what-if” factor. I think about it all the time. Would things have changed? No. They wouldn’t. And I am fucking bitter about it. I don’t know how else to say it. And I almost feel like it is a crime because I do like someone else. I know he isn’t perfect- I don’t want perfection. But he could be perfect for me. But I am having trust issues. I don’t know how to handle it anymore. I dream about D cheating on me over and over and over again. And I am mean to him when I wake up. Mean to him because I can’t move on. And I am at the point where I can’t keep lying. I don’t know how to let go. And then I wonder what girl will I end up being.

Will I be that girl who always gets cheated? The girl who is hoplelessly romantic? The girl who goes for a bad guy? Or will I one day, truly, be loved?

How have you seen this play out in your businesses or organizations?
In this economic turmoil, are feeling the crunch…

What creative things are you doing to keep both “values” at “amazing” while living with the reality of less in this season??