Category Archives: Essential Journey

Living Who I Am Makes a Difference

It has begun. Seventy-four people have begun the journey of their lifetimes with tools to free themselves from doing what they’ve always done that’s gotten them what they didn’t want.

What a miracle.

Everything.

Miracle.

I stood in the circle last night and was in awe of our human condition. In awe and humbled by our beauty.

We are amazing.

Someone asked me, “Why do you keep doing this. Haven’t you figured it all out yet?”

And I laughed. Figuring it out isn’t why I do it. Living it, living the tools, living in that place where I hold my life as a sacred gift that I can share as I participate in changing the world one heart at a time is what it’s all about for me. And being in the Choices room, being part of miracles unfolding all around is where I experience complete freedom to do that.

It also reminds me to live my tools. To be conscious of my tapes, that brain chatter that would have me believe I am or deserve less than, other than, being my most amazing self, and recognizing my self-defeating games so that I can quit playing them before they cause mayhem and destruction in my life is why I keep going back. Being there in that room is a gift. And I love presents!

Just as I love being in the present. In the moment right now.

It is what Thelma stressed this week. At 78, she is committed to living in the moment right now. To being present to what is happening now, not what happened in the past or might happen in the future. To cherish this moment and to live it up for all she’s worth.

Or, as Joseph Campbell wrote:

“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive. That’s what it’s all finally about, and that’s what these clues help us to find within ourselves.

It is scary walking into the seminar room for the first time. You don’t know what’s going to happen. You don’t know what it’s all about other than someone has told you that they think Choices might be something you’d get a lot out of. Because Choices doesn’t advertise. It is a word of mouth program — someone goes, thinks it’s amazing and recommends it to someone else they care about. And, in suggesting someone else go, they purposefully don’t tell them what it’s all about because to explain the details would be to take away the impact of their self-discovery as they go through the processes.

Plus, we’re human. We’re always looking for a way out and if someone says, “you do this or that”, it’s always a good excuse for someone to say, “I don’t do that.”  We are so clever we humans!

By Sunday evening, the fear is gone. And in its stead, people stand revealed in all their beauty. Smiles wide. Eyes bright. Spirits shining. They stand in their authentic natures and connect with those around them, heart to heart.

It is beautiful. Exciting. Miraculous. And… it leads to more.

To living life outside our comfort zones. To living life in that free and invigorating place where we have the more we’ve always wanted, the special we’ve always felt but were too afraid, or timid, or confused to allow ourselves to be.

I am tired, in a happy kind of way this morning.

For five days I got to live completely on purpose, immersed in miracles unfolding, in lives changing, in hearts breaking open to the wonder and beauty of the gifts and talents within.

I am content.

I am (as I uncovered through my Choices journey of designing my contract, purpose and intention statement) a radiant woman touching hearts and opening minds to set spirits free to live their magnificence in a world of peace, love and joy.

Namaste.

Love is All

It was our last session together. Our Monday night gatherings around the well of Kerry Parson‘s brilliance at Primetime for Emerging Women was coming to a close.

For eight weeks we journeyed together exploring what it means to be a woman in this time right now. What it is that connects us, enlivens us, informs us as we emerge from behind the veil of our ‘adapted selves’ into the magnificent splendour of our essential natures shimmering in the light of possibility.

“We are each the complete expression of Love,” said Kerry.

Imagine what is possible if we always live in that expression, letting go of self-doubt,  fear and insecurity… all those things that would have us act less than the birthright of our magnificence.

Imagine.

When we began the journey together 9 weeks ago (Thanksgiving Monday was a holiday), we began with a meditation on John Lennon’s iconic anthem, Imagine.

Last night, we began with centering on Amy Wood and Kerry Parson’s,  We Are So Blessed and closed the circle with Canadian singer/songwriter Pam Gerrand’s soulful, Love Is All sung against the backdrop of Janet Sinclair’s beautiful angel photography.

Love Is All.

There is no other force, no other power, no other essence greater than Love.

No thing can kill Love. No thing can destroy it. No thing. Nothing.

No matter what we do, how we struggle, where we go or how far we stray from our divine essence, Love is all, always and forever. Love is always calling us home.

It is all there is to hold onto.

All there is to release.

All there is to carry.

Love Is All.

As we ended the evening, we each gathered in the circle, holding hands, standing around the creative well of our connection. We shared. One word. One thought. One promise.

Kerry had invited each of us to write out a promise we wanted to share with the world and ourselves. To give it voice so that we would not forget to Love ourselves, no matter what.

Giving voice out loud to the promises we make is an act of courage, of hope, of possibility. It is an act of Love.

Life grows out of everyday places. Love nurtures the seed.

Life stands in the broken spaces, willing itself to not fall down, to not let go of what it believes to be true. Love leans into the edges of the unknown breathing into the possibility of what can be when we let go of holding onto anything other than Love.

Love Is All.

For today, I promise to be open to every experience for every experience has the capacity to change me.

I promise to embrace the challenge and learn from it so that I may create possibility with every thought, express Love with every breath and be Love with every action.

I promise to live in reverence and awe of our magnificence living fearlessly in the complete expression of Love.

Love is all around.

Love Is All.

We are all magnificent. We are all we need to be to know and be that which is all, Love.

Namaste.

The Poet Boy Remembered

Remembrance Day. Lest we forget. Let us  not forget.

Their sacrifice. Their honour. Their duty to country. Their names.

Let us not forget.

My father went off to war when he was a boy. He went off and fought and came home and seldom spoke of those years again.

The following is the unedited version of a Op-Ed that I had published in the Calgary Herald. I share it here in memory of my father, and all the sons and daughters, boys and girls, men and women, who have gone off to war to never return. I share it here to remind me to never forget my father who was once a poet boy.

The Poet Boy

When the poet boy was sixteen, he lied about his age and ran off to war. It was a war he was too young to understand. Or know why he was fighting. When the guns were silenced and the victors and the vanquished carried off their dead and wounded, the poet boy was gone. In his stead, there stood a man. An angry man. A wounded man. The man who would become my father.

By the time of my arrival, the final note in a quartet of baby-boomer children, the poet boy was deeply buried beneath the burden of an unforgettable war and the dark moods that permeated my father’s being with the density of storm clouds blocking the sun. Occasionally, on a holiday or a walk in the woods, the sun would burst through and signs of the poet boy would seep out from beneath the burden of the past. Sometimes, like letters scrambled in a bowl of alphabet soup that momentarily made sense of a word drifting across the surface, images of the poet boy appeared in a note or a letter my father wrote me. For that one brief moment a light would be cast on what was lost and then suddenly, with the deftness of a croupier sweeping away the dice, the words would disappear as the angry man came sweeping back with the ferocity of winter rushing in from the north.

I spent my lifetime looking for the words that would make the poet boy appear, but time ran out when my father’s heart gave up its fierce beat to the silence of eternity. It was a massive coronary. My mother said he was angry when the pain hit him. Angry, but unafraid. She wasn’t allowed to call an ambulance. She wasn’t allowed to call a neighbor. He drove himself to the hospital and she sat helplessly beside him. As he crossed the threshold of the emergency room, he collapsed, never to awaken again. In his death, he was lost forever, leaving behind my anger for which I had no words.

On Remembrance Day, ten years after his death, I went in search of my father at the foot of the memorial to an unnamed soldier that stands in the middle of a city park. A trumpet played “Taps”. I stood at the edge of the crowd and fingered the felt of the bright red poppy I held between my thumb and fingers. It was a blustery day. A weak November sunshine peaked out from behind sullen grey clouds.  Bundled up against the cold, the crowd, young and old, silently approached the monument and placed their poppies on a ledge beneath the soldier’s feet.

I stood and watched and held back.

I wanted to understand the war. I wanted to find the father who might have been had the poet boy not run off to fight “the good war” as a commentator had called it earlier that morning on the radio. Where is the good in war, I wondered? I thought of soldiers falling, mother’s crying and anger never dying. I thought of the past, never resting, always remembered and I thought of my father, never forgotten. The poet boy who went to war and came home an angry man. In his anger, life became the battlefield upon which he fought to retain some sense of balance amidst the memories of a world gone mad.

Perhaps it is as George Orwell wrote in his novel, Nineteen Eighty-four:

“The very word ‘war’, therefore, has become misleading.  It would probably be accurate to say that by becoming continuous war has ceased to exist… War is Peace.”

For my father, anger became the peacetime of his world until his heart ran out of time and he lost all hope of finding the poetry within him.

There is still time for me.

On that cold November morning, I approach the monument. I stand at the bottom step and look at the bright red poppies lining the gun metal grey of the concrete base of the statue. Slowly, I take the first step up and then the second. I hesitate then reach forward and place my poppy amongst the blood red row lined up along the ledge.

I wait. I don’t want to leave. I want a sign. I want to know my father sees me.

I turn and watch a white-haired grandfather approach, his gloved right hand encasing the mitten covered hand of his granddaughter. Her bright curly locks tumble from around the edges of her white furry cap. Her pink overcoat is adorned with little white bunnies leaping along the bottom edge. She skips beside him, her smile wide, blue eyes bright.

They approach the monument, climb the few steps and stop beside me. The grandfather lets go of his granddaughter’s hand and steps forward to place his poppy on the ledge.  He stands for a moment, head bowed. The little girl turns to me, the poppy clasped between her pink mittens outstretched in front of her.

“Can you lift me up?” she asks me.

“Of course,” I reply.

I pick her up, facing her towards the statue.

Carefully she places the poppy in the empty spot beside her grandfather’s.

I place her gently back on the ground.

She flashes me a toothy grin and skips away to join her grandfather where he waits at the foot of the monument. She grabs his hand.

“Do you think your daddy will know which one is mine?” she asks.

The grandfather laughs as he leads her back into the gathered throng.

“I’m sure he will,” he replies.

I watch the little girl skip away with her grandfather. The wind gently stirs the poppies lining the ledge. I feel them ripple through my memories of a poet boy who once stood his ground and fell beneath the weight of war.

My father is gone from this world. The dreams he had, the promises of his youth were forever lost on the bloody tide of war that swept the poet boy away.  In his passing, he left behind a love of words born upon the essays and letters he wrote me throughout the years. Words of encouragement. Of admonishment. Words that inspired me. Humored me. Guided me. Touched me. Words that will never fade away.

I stand at the base of the monument and look up at the soldier mounted on its pedestal.  Perhaps he was once a poet boy hurrying off to war to become a man. Perhaps he too came back from war an angry man fearful of letting the memories die lest the gift of his life be forgotten.

I turn away and leave my poppy lying at his feet. I don’t know if my father will know which is mine. I don’t know if poppies grow where he has gone. But standing at the feet of the Unknown Soldier, the wind whispering through the poppies circling him in a blood red river, I feel the roots of the poet boy stir within me. He planted the seed that became my life.

Long ago my father went off to war and became a man. His poetry was silenced but still the poppies blow, row on row. They mark the place where poet boys went off to war and never came home again.

The war is over. In loving memory of my father and those who fought beside him, I let go of anger. It is time for me to make peace.

 

 

Being present makes a difference

Calgary is a car friendly city. It’s streets and avenues are designed to carry traffic, not necessarily make the way easier for people. The downtown core is laid out with one way streets designed to make entry and egress easier, faster. You drive through downtown, not to the core.

Yesterday, as I walked from one meeting to another, I chose to consciously be present on the sidewalk as I walked. I chose to notice how I moved between people, cars and signposts. How I was present amidst people, cars and signposts.

Self-preservation won. If I didn’t stay present to the cars, I could easily have gotten in their way. If I didn’t stay conscious to the street numbers I could have lost my way.  At one point, crossing from one side of the street to the other that bisected a one way avenue, I thought, “Hmmm… They put the name of the street only facing the traffic moving from the east to the west. I was walking west to east. To see the name of the street I was crossing, I had to turn my head and look behind me.”

Last night, in the Primetime for Emerging Women course lead by the irrepressible and essential Kerry Parsons that I am taking, we began with an exercise of ‘being present’. We stood in front of each person, and breathed into our own presence, their presence, our connected presence in the room. And when we became truly present, we said, “I am here.” and when they felt our presence truly here, they responded, “I see you here.”

It was a powerful and enlightening process. Slowly, I felt myself sink into being present. Completely. Openly. Honestly. Present. No veil. No barrier, no ‘bubble’ protecting me from being present to myself and the other. It was beautiful.

I thought of my walk earlier in the day along the streets of downtown Calgary. Like the cars, even though I was focused on ‘being present’,  to ensure my safety and protect my limited time to get from point A to point B, I was more focussed on the information I was gathering about getting to the address where I was going, rather than the act of how I was walking, consciously connecting to the world around me.

It’s my Bubble World Attitude. I walk, drive, am, operate in the world from a place where fear of getting hit, falling, tripping over obstacles, running into dead ends, getting to the ‘church’ on time, keeps me doing whatever it takes to keep me safe — and separate — from the world around me.

In my Bubble World, vulnerability is not necessary — the thinking goes, “It’s not safe to be vulnerable walking the streets. You might get hit by someone or something.” In fact, when I got to my meeting, one of the people I was meeting with had somehow received a cut on his ear that kept bleeding. It was a windy day so the assumption was, a piece of debris had flown past and nicked his ear.

Aside from wearing a helmet, how do you avoid getting nicked by flying debris on a windy day in Calgary?  (and yes, that’s a rhetorical question)

Like life, we can’t control the world around us. We can’t dictate how it will unfold, who will do what, go where, go how we determine. It is in its very unpredictability and unexpectedness that opportunities unfold, miracles happen. This is life. Nicks, bruises and falls are inevitable. It’s what we do with them that makes a difference.

Challenge is, in my bubble world attitude, I can often operate from a place of perceiving the world as filled with opportunities to stumble. And in my desire to not, I miss those special moments where I can fly free. I miss those divine opportunities to risk it all and leap into the unknown, confident in my gifts, my strength, my capacity to weather any storm and life’s desire for me to achieve all that I am here on earth to become.

The Universe is with me on that one — it needs me, wants me, has evolved through me to create opportunities for me to become all that I am when I let go of fearing, the fall.

And to inspire you this morning, I am sharing Dawna Markov’s signature poem from her book, I will not die an unlived life.  We read it last night during the course and while I’d read it before, I’d never quite heard it like that! Open. Present. Vulnerable to the beauty of her words shimmering in the light of awakening.

I encourage you to take a moment during your day to read her words out loud, to savour each morsel and let them sink into your conscious awareness of being present, risking your significance to live, truly live, from that wild and brilliant place of your magnificence.

I Will Not Die An Unlived Life

by Dawna Markova

I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible;

to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.

A blog for Family Violence Prevention Month

November is Family Violence Prevention month and I’ve decided for this month to dedicate Fridays to a post on the subject.

I was in an abusive relationship for 4 years 9 months and know the terrors of what can happen in your mind and life when you fall in love with an abuser. I know how it hurts the one’s you love, your family and friends. And, I also know that we can stop it. We can break free and when we do, life opens up in limitless possibilities.

We can stop abuse. It takes all of us to commit to not do the things we do or contribute to its presence in our lives. I cannot change an abuser. I can stop their abuse in my life.

A Journey of Love

For four years nine months I endured a relationship of escalating terror. Looking back, I can’t remember what it is that kept me so stuck in his abuse. Looking back I wonder sometimes, what was I smoking? It must have been powerful stuff. And then, I remember the fear. Fear soaked into my pores. It damned the blood pounding into my heart. It permeated every crevice of my mind, consuming my thinking with terrifying reminders of why I could not leave him.

When it was really bad, and the abuser raged or sat in silent condemnation of yet another of my transgressions, I would slink into a closet, close the door and sit in the dark, my eyes shut to any crack of light trying to enter the dismal confines of my mind. Repetitively I would pet the pooch’s silky fur, clinging for dear life to this one being who laid her head upon my scrunched up knees and loved me unconditionally. Sometimes, when he held onto the pooch and would not let her come to me, I would crawl into the closet and dig my nails into my wrists, scraping the skin back, trying desperately to feel something, anything, other than the pain of being me. I wanted so desperately to peel my skin away, layer by layer to reveal the veins and vessels that carried the blood of life within this person who felt so dead to me. I wanted to see who lived within me. I wanted to expose the bones that were supposed to hold me up yet seemed to be crashing down from within me. I wanted to die.

It is hard to describe how he implanted such terror into my life. It was a moment by moment seeping away of my essence. When I met him, I was a partner in a communications firm. I had my home, my daughters, my life. He kept telling me that everything I had was nothing compared to what he would give me. I would say, “But I’m happy with my life today.” And he would laugh and ask me how that could be and he would remind me of what a mess my life was. I couldn’t figure that one out. My life wasn’t perfect. But it wasn’t a mess either. Yet, he persisted and rather than laugh back at him, I retreated into silence. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps all that I had accomplished meant nothing compared to all that he had done and wanted to give me.

And then the stalking and the phone taps and the threats of bomb’s under my car and the stories of evil men threatening to kidnap my daughters and drug them and put them into the sex trade began. And I fell into despair. The unreal began to feel too real and I could not risk challenging the truth.

By the end of that ride, I did not exist. I had completely submerged my identity and scrunched it up into a tiny pocket tucked high up into the corner of my mind as I became the vessel of his deceit. We were in hiding as he tried to evade the police. He was searching for a way out of the country. I was searching for a way out. Of life. Of being there with him, And so I existed, telling myself that at least I had gotten him away from the one’s I love. They didn’t deserve him and his abuse. But I did.

For four months my daughters, family and friends didn’t  know where I was. And I was too afraid to call and tell them I was okay. Because that too would have been a lie.

I was not okay. I wanted to die. Every moment of every day. Waking or sleeping. I wanted to die. I watched buses and semi-trailers looking for an opportunity to fall into their path or crash into the solid substance of their massive sides as they sped through my life. I counted pills. I fondled razor blades. I imagined death in every form and prayed for it to come and end the darkness that was my world.

And through it all, I stayed silent. I acted the role he needed me to play to convince those who needed convincing that we were who he said we were. Even though I knew it was all a lie. I had become his lie. I was his shill. His creation. The only truth I held onto was my love for my daughters. To take my own life would be to make a lie of my love for them. And I couldn’t do it.

And then, at 9:14 am, May 21, 2003, the police walked in and arrested him and I received the miracle of my life and thus began my journey into myself, into beauty, hope and the joy of living free of his abuse.

It has been an amazing journey since that beautiful day in May. A journey filled with sorrow, tears, laughter, joy. A journey like no other. A journey of Love.

I am blessed. Once upon a time I was an abused woman. Today, I am a victor. Today, I know my power comes from within me. Today, I know my own strength. I cannot stop an abuser being who they are, but I can stop abuse in my life. And I have.

 

A Croning Celebration makes a difference

I love ritual. Love the idea of it, the need of it, the power of it.

Which is why, when my beautiful friend Marilyn asked if I wanted to be part of a Croning Celebration, I jumped at the opportunity.

Imagine! A group of women coming together to celebrate all that makes this third cycle of our lives incredible.

Imagine! 10 wise women plus a ‘maiden’ gathered in a circle to consciously choose to welcome in the changes time has cast upon us through our being here on earth as women.

Imagine!

And there I was, one of 10 Crones gathered in a circle to mark the passing of the years, the flowing out of the childbearing gifts of our bodies, the gathering up of our power and the releasing out of our wisdom. I was there. I am that woman. That Crone.

I am blessed.

Cheryl Hinds, our amazing guide last night at the Croning Celebration, created a delightful evening designed to invoke spiritual reflection, dignity and wisdom. She spoke of time passing, of bodies changing, minds opening and filling up with the knowing of who we are.

She spoke of wisdom gained through living our lives through infancy to childhood, adolescence to maiden and mother and now, Crone. We shared, the wisdom we want to give the world, the gifts we want to bestow, the beauty we want to reveal.

We laughed. We meditated. We donned purple capes and wreaths of flowers. We clasped amethyst and cast out concern and trepidation of our aging and welcomed in the wonder and beauty and sheer delight of being women of this age. We set our intentions, made our commitments to ourselves and eachother and the world. We declared our intention to be true to ourselves, to walk our talk, to become a link between the wisdom of the ancient and recent past, women of today and the women of the future.

It was amazing.

Heartfelt. Joyful. Memorable.

And it made a difference.

To mark this age, this third cycle in my life,  this place and space and being in time where I can say with joy and elation, I am a Crone. I am one of the circle of elders. I am wise woman. Seer. No longer the ‘doer’ I share my wisdom and gifts with those around me to illuminate the path with my light of knowing the power within must move without to become the shift we must all make to create a world of wonder. A world where peace rises through the ashes of the past where we believed to ‘have more’ and do more was the answer to creating and being more of who we want to be in the world.

Having more is not the answer. Becoming more attuned to the rhythms of our bodies, the cycles of our lives, the wonder of our hearts — these are the places where we find the more. these are the spaces where shift happens, miracles unfold and beauty awakens.

I took part in a Kroning Celebration last night.

Ritual. Laughter. Joy. Women gathered around a flickering candle. Women sharing that which makes us so powerful. Our beauty. Our community. Our age. Our gifts.

I am grateful.

 

 

 

 

The light of evensong makes a difference

I walked beneath the light of the full moon, the air chilly against my skin. Ellie, the wonder pooch, pranced and danced beside me, her tail wagging enthusiastically as she sniffed for scent of gopher, squirrel maybe chipmunk beneath the snow covering the ground.

It was the in-between time. That hour just before darkness falls where dusk draws a silken veil across the sky and tinges the horizon in pink and rosy and golden hues. The time of Vespers, an ancient Catholic ritual of expressing gratitude in the twilight hours.

I walked and soaked in the air and view and quiet of the evensong drawing day to a close.

I walked and silently gave thanks for my day. A day of quiet. A day to work on a project for  my beloved (and I can’t tell you here because he reads here and telling you would spoil the surprise!). A day of sharing a meal with good friends and talking about the Essential Journey and how to translate ‘the knowing’ of our essential selves into service for the world.

“Louise,” my good friend Kerry Parsons sat across from me at lunch and as is her way, asked the questions of her heart. “You go out into the world and do your thing and do it singularly because, that’s what you do.” She glanced around at the other two members of our Essential Journey team. “That’s what we all do. But how do you, how do we, do it collaboratively? How do we enter into the spirit of co-creation and keep it as our collective vision?”

It was a good question. An important one.

How do I move from the ‘Me’ to embracing the ‘We’. How do I ignite possibility through collaborative energy versus singular drive?

I don’t know. I’m learning as I go. It’s evolutionary.

That’s the thing about the evolutionary process. It is constantly evolving. Continually unfolding and growing and emerging.

And I grow with it, emerge, become.

When I was a child I didn’t like team sports. Not because I wasn’t good at them, but rather, because I feared criticism. I feared letting others down. If I just say “I’m not a basketball player, volleyball player…” or whatever the sport was that required me to cooperatively engage in exercising with a collective, then no one will expect me to be part of the team. And in the release from that expectation, my expectations of not being wanted could be ignored.

I never had to challenge my belief — I am unwanted.

It also meant I took up singular sports and those where it was me against an opponent. Running. Skiing.  Racquetball. Tennis. Squash. I could be good at those because I never had to ask if I was wanted on the team, I just needed to turn up and be my best.

Except, being my best also came with mixed messages of childhood. “You think you’re so good.” You think you’re better than everyone else. Don’t get too smart for your britches. Nobody likes someone who always wins.

And so, I began to hide. My light. My drive. My brilliance. I began to hide behind the mediocrity of getting along, getting by, getting it done. Even though there were brief bursts of ‘wow! I can do that!’, I did my own thing — but never to the best of my abilities, always to the best of my belief it was vain and self-serving to shine.

I adapted.

It is the core message of the Essential Journey. We are born into this world with gifts and light and perfection shining. And then, we adapt.

We adapt to fit our family unit. Our circle of friends. Peer pressure, cultural biases, faith dictates, all impact our journey, moulding us into adaptive beings capable of living life and fitting into the norms of our society.

In the Essential Journey we learn to identify our adaptive beliefs and behaviours as we release the essence of the magnificence of our birthright. The brilliant, shining light of who we are born to be in this world of wonder.

The Essential Journey asks, “Who am I when I live up to my higher-self? What can we create through the collaborative energy of the highest expressions of our magnificence?”

Imagine what a world this would be. Imagine the difference we can make, imagine what we can inspire when we let go of living from our adapted selves and allow the full expression of our magnificence to unfold with grace and ease in a world of wonder.

Just imagine.

I walked in the light of evensong and felt gratitude, joy, Love and humility rise within me and all around.

I may not know how to operate in the collaborative but I do know how to allow the process to unfold. In its unfolding, I let go of making it happen to make room for miracles to happen, everywhere, because my life has been an evolutionary journey of Love. And in Love, I know, all things are possible. In Love, miracles happen.