and me in my kerchief

and I in my cap

have just settled our hearts down

for a long winter's nap.

Hoping Santa doesn't forget...

Love . . . corralled and stabled

Love . . . corralled and stabled.

I keep it close these days.

It escaped once;

Wild horses running -

like they've never felt the wind in their manes before;

like they've never kicked the dirt up so high under their feet before.

Galloping

unbridled,

without thought or contemplation.

A heroic sight.

A breathtaking plight.

And then

came, the fall -

broken legs, blood, pain

and yet, I could not bear to shoot

and yet nothing was the same.

"All The Wild Horses"

All the wild horses
All the wild horses
Tell her with tears in their eyes
May no man's touch ever tame you
May no man's reigns ever chain you
And may no man's weight ever defrayed your soul
And as for the clouds
Just let them roll
Roll away
Roll away
As for the clouds
Just let them roll
Roll away
Roll away

Ray Lamontagne

Distortion

Jessica Simson, the most recent (celebrity) woman to be attacked and accused of hiding her mortal, human skeleton (and soul) behind healthy, beautiful, protective, mortal HUMAN flesh. The names of Jennifer Love Hewitt and Trya Banks (to name a very few) have also appeared on the ongoing and ever growing list of women (particularly celebrity women) who have been accused and attacked for the same dysfunctional society's social crime. I am sure that in this very moment; somewhere in the United States (where our Hollywood standards for women vs what real, healthy women look like are the equivalent to Disney vs the Brothers Grimm . . . worlds apart) a young girl is doing something to ensure she will fit inside the tiny plastic mold of the ideal woman as she grows (but shrinks). And somewhere else in the United States - a young woman is dying or has died from an eating disorder.
And we all must take responsibility for this thinking. Every time a woman strives to live up to these airbrushed, photo-shopped, nutritionally starved, cosmetically altered (NOT enhanced, for enhancing is completely different than altering) . . . every time . . . we give POWER to the image and take the POWER from ourSelves.
Every unnecessary piece of clothing we strip from our bodies in order to expose more and more flesh to the world (for profit and for vanity) - we also strip away at ourSelves and our souls. This may sound prudish to some - but that is only because our standards have bottomed out - we have lost our class and our self-respect. I am not referring to art . . . I am referring to INTENT - the intent behind our actions and our thoughts.
I don't have to say more. Not only because I don't have the words to express my sadness, my anger and my outrage for this modern day 'witch hunt,' but rather because there is nothing more to say. It's preposterous - contrary to nature, reason, and common sense. It is absurd.
I don't want to partake in a society that thinks this way.
I don't want to live in a society that thinks this way.
I am ashamed of this society.
If we, as a society, do not collectively shift our thoughts about body image, and return to love, acceptance and GRATITUDE for our outer shells, our God-given flesh and bones . . . the temples of our SOULS - then I wish not to participate in this ill-minded, man made society.

There is Pain in the Knowing

The annual seal hunt is on in Canada . . .

Good St. Francis, you loved all of God's creatures.

To you they were your brothers and sisters.

Help us to follow your example

of treating every living thing with kindness.

St. Francis, Patron Saint of animals,

watch over the Harp Seals

and keep them safe and healthy.

Amen.

“Blessed are you, Lord God, maker of all living creatures. You called forth fish in the sea, birds in the air and animals on the land. You inspired St. Francis to call all of them his brothers and sisters. We ask you to bless this pet. By the power of your love, enable it to live according to your plan. May we always praise you for all your beauty in creation. Blessed are you, Lord our God, in all your creatures! Amen.”












Heavenly Father, the bond we have with our friends of other species is a wonderful and special gift from You. We now ask You to grant our special animal companions your Fatherly care and healing power to take away any suffering they have. They trust in us as we trust in You. Give us, their human friends, new understanding of our responsibilities to these creatures of Yours. Our souls and theirs are on this earth together to share friendship, affection, and caring. Take our heartfelt prayers and bless these ill or suffering animals with healing Light and strength to overcome whatever weakness of body they have:

The Harp Seals and all animals being tortured, killed and sacrificed in the name of fashion, vanity, greed

Your goodness is turned upon every living thing; Your grace flows to all Your creatures; Your Light touches each of us with the reflection of Your love. Grant long and healthy lives to our special animal companions. Bless their relationships with us, and if You see fit to take them from us, help us to understand that they are not gone from us but only drawing closer to You. Grant our prayer through the intercession of good St. Francis of Assisi, who honored You through all Your creatures. Empower him to watch over our animal friends until they are safely with You in eternity, where we someday hope to join them in honoring You forever. Amen.

March 28, 2008: Canadian Fishermen Have Started
Killing 275,000 Harp Seal Pups

HARP SEALS .ORG

I love my Canadian neighbors, and I mean NO disrespect to you, my friends, across the river from me . . . I am sure many of you are against this cruelty . . . I am NOT attacking Canadian people - I am simply exposing a terrible thing endorsed by their government.

VIDEO FOOTAGE
Extremely disturbing images

Aquainted with Evil - Innocence Lost

As a people, have we changed at all? Have we evolved at all? To loosely quote from one of Castaneda's books; "If you think you've changed a little, you haven't changed at all."
When I think back . . . back centuries . . . back millennia . . . I have little hope left. Little hope for all of us, for mankind as a whole, and for me who is a part of this whole.


For as far back as we can collectively remember through historical writings, art, stories . . . from the beginning of our existence we have continued to make the same ill-fated errors in judgment over and over again. To our detriment, we have continued to be the same 'people' we have always been, regardless of the difficult life-lessons we have experienced, the pain, the sorrow and the obvious karmic outcomes of our doings.

Since our beginning, we have engaged ourselves in wars, religious and political conflicts, prejudices, social hierarchies, poverty, rape, pillaging, addictions, greed, sexual exploitations, immoral and unethical behaviors, ignorance, denial and indifference causing us to be uninvolved.

Sure, we can argue that there also exists 'good' people: generous, caring, concerned, involved . . . just as there has always been.

WE HAVE NOT CHANGED. And that is fact.

A few days ago, the body of a young girl, Emily Sander - just eighteen years young - was found. She was a college student. She had her whole life ahead of her. She needed extra money. She found a popular-by-demand side job in the dark world of pornography; a world that would not exist if we were truly an evolving species. But, unfortunately, pornography does exist (as it always has) and it is raping us, especially our children, of the gift of innocence. It is an ever-growing business and our appetite has become insatiable. Pornography, for one, is destroying the fabric of mankind. I know from my own personal experience and the experiences of friends around me.

And then there is the recent news story of the eight-day old infant girl - sexually abused and murdered by her twenty-eight year old father. We can say, "He is a sick @*%&, " but the questions of "How could he . . . ?" or "Why did he?" should really be a question of "What happened to him that he, one of our own, became so filled with darkness and evil that he would ever have thoughts like that in his mind - thoughts that would lead him to do something so cruel, horrible and ungodly?"

The news continues to report the horrific stories perpetrated by mankind - stories we do not want to hear about, but must know about if we are to fully understand the crisis we are facing in this world.

All I can say, with much sadness and despair in my heart, is GOD HELP US ALL.

December 23, 2012 is quickly approaching. While I'm not a 'doomsdayer' by nature - I am actually an incurable romantic and optimist - I don't know where else we can go, what else we can do . . . except PRAY and clean our own minds and hearts of the trash and toxins that have accumulated within us by means of our mere existence and co-inhabitance among our fellow man in the outskirts of the garden.












Thomas Cole. Expulsion from the Garden of Eden (detail). c.1827-1828. Oil on canvas. The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MA, USA.

Remember Me . . . By Lizzie Palmer (age 16)

This needs no introduction - no words - just watch . . . (5:23)




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ervaMPt4Ha0

The "Nice" Vice

It is said that 'nice guys finish last,' but I think it should be said; nice guys finish first, and if any one group does finish last it would be the kind guys.
Nice and kind are not interchangeable - their meanings are not the same. And yet, those two words have been misused and interchanged time and time again, with "nice" being the more popular of the two.
"He's such a nice guy . . . "
What ever happened to (one of my favorite sayings), "Nice people suck."
Because it's true - they do . . . they suck and they suck up.
"Nice" is of a social nature - and anything of a social nature is anything but genuine. Niceness is pleasant and agreeable in appearance, and appearances can be deceiving. Niceness is appropriate and fitting for the occasion.
Kindness is a virtue of the heart . . . kindness is real and palpable; loving and thoughtful, patient and forbearing; respectful and honorable. Kindness is born of intent. Kindness is an action . . . of the heart and soul.
I know a 'nice guy.' He is the 'yes man' to all of his friends. He knows the 'right' things to say and he's always around to give them (his friends) a helping hand. Nice. Nice guy . . . in public.
His friends don't hear his complaints and criticisms before and after his niceties. I do. I hear them. He is not usually kind. But he is usually nice . . . a nice guy . . . but usually not to me.

You Are Beautiful

For all of us who need to be reminded today...

For anyone who needs more than a reminder . . . if you have been brought down by words - abusive words by your partner in a relationship, seek support and get help. You don't have to live in that situation. Visit this blog Dangerous Liasons
Because sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can break your soul. I know, I lost 21 grams somewhere in the last two years. Now, I'm trying to gain it back. Anyone have some "diet" suggestions . . . food for the soul?

Expected Disasters of the Ordinary Kind

(Updated 8-26-07 at the bottom of this post)

Don’t call these “acts of God” because God is not the One who is destroying our Earth mother.

Don’t call these “natural disasters.” Because how can anything of a destructive, catastrophic nature be looked upon as something to be expected and accepted . . . as something that is normal and ordinary?

That is, unless, we as human beings, are fundamentally stupid. That is unless we, as human beings, are merely apathetic cells that are combining in cancerous mass and killing our most vital living organ - the very much alive planet Earth - that generously and abundantly sustains our human lives, allowing us to experience the life God gave us. But, I know in my heart we are better than this. I know we can do better than this.

So, the furies of storms and tornadoes that created a path of destruction in parts of Michigan last night and the forest fires that raged in Southern Greece ending 44 human lives are all something of our doing. We are responsible for the illness of our fading planet.

I wrote about prayers of healing in my previous post . . . and I feel it necessary we come together in a collective effort and pray for the healing of our planet while actively doing what we can to stop and reverse the damage we have already done. We need vigilance, diligence and impeccability at this most critical and final hour . . . these which could be her last breaths.

The AP photo above was taken by Petros Giannakouris of an iconostasis in the Greek village of Kato Samika, about 200 miles south of Athens. An iconostasis is a small church-like building - ‘icon’ means holy image or symbol, and ‘stasis’ means a stop – as place to stop and say a prayer, to reflect, to pause on the busy path of daily life and show gratitude to God. (The walkways throughout Greece have thousands of iconostasis - each is an oasis of hope)

Please hold the healing of our living planet Earth
in your hearts and prayers

Also in the news today it was revealed that Mother Theresa struggled with her faith. Why is that so shocking? How does that come as such a surprise?

Mother Theresa was human like the rest of us. If she never had doubt, if she never felt the pains of despair and hopeless, if she lived a life without personal turmoil and strife . . . she would have not lived an honest life. She would not have been real. The fact that she had doubt - great doubt at times - and yet never gave up or gave in is the true testament to what faith, perseverance, selflessness and love can conquer.





8-26-07 UPDATE ON FIRES IN GREECE: The fires, which are now ravaging half of the country for the past three days, have ended 51 human lives and are quickly spreading - consuming more than a mile in only three minutes - due, especially, to the strong August winds. The fires are racing toward the village of Ancient Olympia and the 2,500 year old Temple Of Apollo in Epikourios. There are hundreds of fires - all believed to be intentionally set (some people have already been detained regarding their involvement). This is a catastrophe of biblical proportions threatening to destroy most of present day Greece and her people . . . while also threatening to leave the preserved ruins of antiquity in a charred state of ruin beyond recognition.
Among the burned remains of bodies found in cars, along roads and in fields was a mother hugging her four children.
This is a news story. But for me it is also a personal story. Having lived in Greece and having friends and family living in Greece, and having walked the land that is being swallowed up by flames . . . it is a very personal story for me.

A Moment of Healing

This very moment is about healing.

It is not an International Day of Healing, (although that is a beautiful thought) it is about this moment and taking this moment to think about ourselves and the people with whom we have come into contact with: family, friends, acquaintances, passersby, friends of friends . . . fellow bloggers (especially Jon and Maleah) . . . and sending out powerful prayers of healing.

Maybe you or someone you know (or know of) has suffered a loss . . . a death of a loved one, an illness, surgery, unhealed scars from past traumas . . . pray for healing and comfort and peace.

Take a moment
a moment right here, right now
close your eyes
inhale slowly and deeply
exhale slowly and completely
bow your head
in what way do you need to be healed?
who (in your life) needs healing?
ask God, the Universe, a Higher Power
to surround you and those people in a white light
open yourself up to the healing energy
ask for healing in specific areas
and ask to healed in any and all ways
unspecific and unknown
give thanks for your many blessings

A Day Like Today

Days like these . . . when the last roll of toilet paper can put someone over the edge...
when I miss my mom more than usual...
when the road ahead is gravel and I'm walking barefoot.

Days like these . . . when the rain won't let up...
when sushi won't do the trick...
when I know the world is flat because my toes are curled over the edge.

Days like these . . . when the knowledge I've acquired doesn't give me a better understanding...
when I can't find myself in the crowd...
when I fall like a tree and no one hears a sound.

Days like these . . . when what I thought it was is not what it is...
when I rebelliously grind the coffee a few seconds longer...
when the coffee tastes the same anyway.

Days like these . . . when my heart is still...
when my mind is racing...
when my soul is aching.

Days like today . . . when I realize my stripes were painted on.

Sometimes life . . .

"Mom . . . Steve died"





The middle-of-the-night voice on the other end of the phone; my daughter.

I didn't quite understand.
"What? Steve who?"
"My Steve!"

Her Steve, Nathan's daddy, my son-in-law.

Steve died while sleeping in his brother's chair. The irony of it: his brother lives in their childhood home - the same house Steve and his twin brother, Robert were brought home from the hospital as newborns . . . and the very same house that his twin brother died of SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) . . . in his sleep. Steve never let go of his connection with his twin brother. Their bond was mysteriously strong. I feel in my heart that Steve never felt deserving of life - a life he felt Robert was robbed of as an infant.

I will always remember Steve's kind and generous heart, his infectious smile, his love of music and cooking and animals (especially his dog Zeus who died some years before) and his love of sleep! Like Nathan said, "At least daddy is doing what he loved to do - sleep!" Though he so enjoyed spending time with his friends - and he had many - he also valued his moments of quietness, solitude and contemplation. I will miss his big, warm hugs, the way he said, "I love you, mom," and the loving dinners he cooked for me. I miss Steve.

I have so much I want to say, but the words just won't release themselves from the tight grip of my heart.

Steven Michael Smith died on June 9, 2007 . . . at the age of Christ; thirty-three.
This past Friday, August 10, 2007 would have been his thirty-fourth birthday.

Sometimes life . . . insert sentiments here

The Family Tree - When the leaves fall and all that's left is a song

One of my oldest proven ancestors on my maternal grandfather's side was a man by the name of Stefan Nicolaides (which means 'sons of the victory people' in Greek). He was born in 1743, possibly in Hungary and moved to Kameral Ellgoth, Austria in 1782. There, he became the first Lutheran pastor and founded a chapel - which was later enlarged to a church - and wrote the church's parish history. He also built a parsonage (in essence, his home), a house for the sexton and a school. After serving as pastor for twenty-six years, he died at the age of sixty-five in 1808.

Stefan's eldest child, a son, Karl Josef (born in 1780) married a (polish?) girl, Sophia Kordiak and they had three children: Rosa (November 10, 1808), Henry (June 13, 1813) and Alexander (October 22, 1815).

Many letters were written by Sophia to (her son) Henry and by Rosa to (her brother) Henry. They were kept by Henry, preserved by his son, William, then translated from Gothic German to English around 1967.

The following is a letter that was written by Rosa (Mrs. Thomas Wodiczkal) to Henry on October 17 in 184? (Due to historical time lines the year was probably sometime between 1852 -1855). Rosa had received word that Henry left the army (due to illness) and emigrated to America with his new wife, Maria Josepha Tacchini (whom he met while stationed in Milan, Italy).

(The original letter)

Dear good brother,

I feared you were dead! I can only expect death, which seems to follow me. I am so lost, with my poor children.

You know we were in Pest (Budapest) during the Revolution (Began early 1848-1849 - Russia joined with Austria to crush the Hungarians). My dear unforgettable husband described the whole Revolution to you. After that we were transferred back to Gross Karuly. My husband became an official then we were happy, knowing life would be better for us. But suddenly my husband got an acute inflammation of the bowels. After a day and a half he passed away despite all the efforts made to save his life. I buried him four years ago, in July.

I wrote you three letters but never received an answer. After that I wrote to Mr. Killia. He wrote that I should write to you and send it to him; he would try to forward it to you. He also wrote that you are well off and also healthy.

I've had a very hard time with my poor children. Winter will soon be here and I don't have suitable clothing for them. I, alone, cannot make enough money for all of us. Everything is very expensive here; a loaf of bread costs four gulden, a basket of fruit - thirty florins, corn - twenty florins, one egg - four xr (coins), one pound of butter - twenty-four grapfin.

You can well imagine my position after the death of my dear husband. No money and no bread. I was very ill and too weak to walk. I wrote to Trempfin, to Wagner and Langa asking for help, and also my husband's mother and brothers. No one answered.

If only I could send my Emerich (Rosa's son Henry) to you. He could help you on the farm, and he would love to come. I want to send him now to learn a trade. Ludwig and Karl (Rosa's other sons) are still in school. They will have a hard time this winter because they have no winter clothing.

Day before yesterday my employer called for me, saying he had very pleasant news for me, and he gave me a letter from Wagner in Pest (Budapest).

Dear brother, if we could walk over the wide ocean to you, we would do so. I feel I could die easier if only I could see you again. We haven't seen each other for such a very long time; it hurts me for us to be so very far apart. I would love to talk with you and also to complain about my problems. are you truly happy in America, dear brother? Wagner writes that you are homesick for your homeland. Farewell, dear brother, and many greetings to you all. We kiss you many times. Truly yours,

Rosa.

I await your answer with great longing.
I send many kisses, write soon.


I don't know what happened to Rosa after that . . . Henry and his wife landed in New York (in 1846). Their first child, a daughter, Sophia Eugenia died in New York in 1847. They moved to New Jersey, then to Pennsylvania where William (1848), then Henry (1849) were born. They left Pittsburgh, traveled down the Ohio River to Mississippi, then down the Arkansas River to Little Rock where they settled in Pulaski County, Arkansas. They remained there during the Civil War - while Arkansas was under martial law. All of Little Rock became a military base camp; with a huge hospital and a prison for captured Confederate soldiers. The territory was swept by raiders, supply scouts, guerrilla forces and troops of both sides. Banks became unsafe, stagecoaches ceased and private transportation did not exist. Ex-guerrillas became bandits and Indians reverted to savagery. The southern people were starving - Living in Little Rock became very expensive. Sometimes supper was a corn pone, carefully divided to give each a share. Life in the America suddenly became very difficult.

The Nicolaides family eventually settled down on farm in Caney Creek, Union County, Illinois where Henry (pitured below) died on December 28, 1879.



And just when I thought my life had become difficult!

Somewhere . . . a butterfly flapped its wings . . .

I suppose when the air became still enough (in hindsight it was only the eye of the storm) for the initial conditions to shift, ever so slightly, at the gentle flapping of the butterfly’s wings . . . the tempest emerged . . . uprooting my perennials, tearing at my shingles, flooding my basement . . . finding me with only one foot on the ground.

As the tempest created chaos in my life - the chaos created a new life in me.

Butterflies are bringers of change - they symbolize metamorphosis, transformation – it’s no wonder that they have such power beneath their fragile wings to turn the tides inward.

Now, after being flooded and nearly drowned – a forceful baptism into the sacred rites of all that is beyond the morning cup of coffee, the daily devotion to the hour hand, the tedious slow drive home, the forgetfulness of living – I understand the importance of air, I appreciate every breath, I have come to know that oxygen is free . . . as all REAL things are.

Did I nearly die – was this a near death experience . . . oh yes! I was as close to death as the salesmen can get before rigor mortis foils resurrection. I was one of the lucky bastards. I was asked to leave Dracula’s cave (by Dracula himself) because (this is where the curse becomes a blessing) my anemic blood type . . . and of course my wooden cross and pounds of garlic hidden under my cloak didn’t help things. I was deemed a trader of the cult, stripped of my name, cast out. Left almost soulless. Almost.

I was awakened by the high-pitched sound of the monitor flat lining. As I pushed the snooze button, I realized, that although this all felt so real, it was only a bad dream during another lazy nap . . . one that I cannot afford to take again and lose more time by closing my eyes . . . even if (especially if) I don’t want to see what is in front of me.

Where once a zombie tolerated a poorly written script (the endings are always so predictable) . . . a women leaves the stage without so much as a bow . . . and a butterfly’s job is done.

The Beauty - Pain Relationship

When I die, I want to be buried in my Dolce & Gabbana boots, as long as I don't have to climb too many stairs to get to the pearly gates - because, unlike Nancy Sinatra's famous go-go boots - these boots were not made for walking! They are just a small discomfort and only one example of what I endure - the quietly suffering aches and pains - in the name of fashion and beauty. I'll suffer with the most of them, but not with he best of them. For example, I won't go as far a having surgery on my feet, like some of the women I know, in order to continue wearing extreme stilettos. No . . . I put my foot (my God-given foot) down on that one.
Throughout time, and as early as the Egyptians, women have endured discomfort and pain and have even risked death all in the name of beauty. In this twenty-first century, botox injections (a form of botulism to temporarily paralyze expression lines, minimizing wrinkles), starvation diets, breast and buttocks implants, to name a few, almost pale in comparison to the Victorian days when pale skin - the sign of an aristocrat (while the working class were marked with tans) - was achieved by using toxic combinations lead oxide and arsenic in powders to whiten the skin. Leaches were even used to bleed the skin to give it a paler appearance. (Dracula may have been the first doctor of beauty) For that dreamy look, women dropped Belladonna, a poisonous herb, into their eyes to dilate their pupils. Metal-framed corsets that impaired breathing and restricted circulation in the 1870’s (just two of ninety-seven listed corset-induced ailments), gave way to the modern girdles of the 1970’s. The highly flammable, rash inducing horse-hair and straw-filled crinolines were improved upon in the 1860’s by using a cage-like frame of steel or whalebone hoops that measured ten yards around and made it almost impossible for a woman to maneuver in. One hundred years later, women traded up by wearing five inch platform shoes that made walking an activity that should have had its own separate insurance policy.

Getting back to these modern times of today, the desired looks may have changed, but our means of achieving them, and the dangers we knowingly and readily submit ourselves to, have not lessoned with time and experience.

Today, we risk skin cancer to look like we can afford wintering in Palm Springs or at least monthly weekend trips to South Beach. We voluntarily starve ourselves and vacuum out our fat - because unlike the days when plumpness was a sign of abundance, being anything more than skinny today means that one cannot afford a nutritionist or a personal trainer and can only afford a Big Mac and fries.

Who sets these standards of beauty? Is it the collective consciousness of society? The fashion houses of Paris, Milan and New York? The A list pawns who must play the game to be queened in the socialite and Hollywood circles?

Can beauty be achieved without pain? According to some writings, thoughts and research, beauty and pain go hand-in-hand. Pain is a reoccurring theme in the study of beauty, aesthetics and life experience. Pain brings, with it, gifts. The pain of childbirth brings a beautiful life into the world. The pain of a broken heart births poetry and beautiful stories. Pain makes us more receptive to life and more alert to beauty. Pain protects us. Pain brings growth. Pain is a teacher. The hero or heroine must suffer to win the love and respect of the people. Beauty, love, pain . . . are all in inhaled in one breath.

"Beauty and pain are linked," poet David Bergman says. "Sometimes beauty is the compensation for having experienced pain. Sometimes beauty has its own pain because it's not going to last. If we're only willing to experience pain or experience beauty, then we're going to live on only some of our gears."

So, as I was saying earlier, please, when I die, bury me in my boots . . . for the pain I will have endured while wearing them as I walked my path in this life (though, nothing compared to the pain of their price tag)is my ticket straight into heaven without having to stop in purgatory.