PonoPeople

I said...No R!!! ~

2012-01-23T06:51:00.005-10:00

So....I have been wanting to talk about this ever since I first titled and got the website/domain for my beloved blog : Ponopeople….. yes, that's Ponopeople---without an “R”!

As time has gone by, a friend showed me how you can track where most of the traffic comes from in views of the blogsite. It is amazing to see hits coming in from all over the world….France, Germany, Turkey, even Russia—as well as the good ole’ US of A. The feature even gives you the names of the sites referring links to my page. It is amazing to think of really, how it all connects from one golden thread to another in this vast internet world.

It is not, however, amazing, when I come across referral sites where the search words/titles alone are enough to render me speechless, and bring my face aflame…. "blushing" being a huge understatement. The only explanation I can render for how these eye-popping, incongruous site/ google searches to find their way to me…is that blasted “R” they add---oh that one degree of separation….but how important that one degree is!

I have to admit, I got discouraged and saddened, especially at first when I saw this trend. But then, I thought, perhaps that is God’s, the Universe’s, (insert your choice/option here__________’s) way of getting these shady searches to a site with a whole lot more satisfying sweetness to offer than where they were previously prowling—and one with substance that sustains~

Yes, I confess... I used to get frustrated, and even angry thinking of it all, but now I have to admit I get a bit of a kick in imagining the disgruntled looks on those faces…the utter disappointment of unmet expectations…when my G-rated (no pun intended, I assure you) site greets them.

So, just to reiterate…that is PONOPEOPLE, people!!!….WITHOUT AN R…

*Oi vey...

~Sunrise Slap~

2012-01-22T10:35:00.008-10:00

Yesterday was a tough day.

It was a long day.

As I drove home, I got stuck in traffic---for hours.

Once I stepped through my door…nearing 11pm…my neighbors were having a Par-tay, people…*and the music was pumpin’…(mm tizz mm tizz)

Upwards of 3am….the music has finally died down…replaced now by sliding scales of slurred speeches---yes, those lovely, drunken “conversations” (ah….I used that term loosely) to act as my evening (ah…..morning?) lullabies.

Not one single wink do I sleep. *boo….

My usual 5am alarm doesn’t even have time to yell…I am up and waiting for it’s siren scream….nebulously greeting this neverending day.

Lacing my shoes up, one sleep-deprived step sluggishly scuffles after the other…I pray I will not, in this new and unbeforeseen version of sleeprunning, veer into oncoming headlights like a drunken, drowsy deer----or wind up wading into the ocean waves—drowning in a most dramatic (and ridiculous) rendition of my own Edna Pontellier….

I am pretty far gone…I feel it. WOW.

What day is it, again?

And, MAN! am I GRUMPY.

Sensing my “Eeyore aura,” I want to run away from my own abysmal black cloud of bad attitude.

A prickly porcupine, pounding the pavement---I crest that next hill, thinking: “Dangit, and I have to drive to the airport tonight too….” *Cue the rain and thunderbolt, and batten down that hatch, Piglet!…

That's when it happens--- WHAM! I get slapped right in the face….

Not with a real hand (mind you, I probably deserved it at that particular, piti-full moment!)…but rather with this sight:

*and awareness anew--- of smallness.

Smallness of myself…and the similar size of what little I have to grumble about….

Stripes~

2012-01-17T05:40:00.009-10:00

Over the years, I have dedicated entire posts (yes, that is the plural form--with an S) to a myriad of “fluff” subjects including (but oh! not limited to)… glitter makeup, cupcakes, crayons, hairstyles, bicycle BFF’s, and even spent a second paying homage to the bygone fashions of the electric 80’s. On the surface, these topics may seem silly and non-important. Yet, when I dig deeper, and truly delve into the depths and richness of what they symbolize to my own psyche (and I bet to many of yours as well,) I discover that they stand for so much more.

Whether it be the summoning of sweet memories from the past, the idea of a return to an innocence of earlier days, or retaining with reckless abandon that youthful exuberance and unfettered joy we wildly wielded as children---turning my thoughts towards (and poising my pen over paper for) these images always brings a gladness and quickening to my spirit. I feel more alive, and awake.

So, yesterday evening, in light of these revelations, as yet another thunderous, tropical island storm beat at my doorstep and threatened my mood, I decided to chase the clouds of gray away by coloring my world—and adding some sassy stripes in the process! I painted my nails….oooh so pretty~

I realize lately that rain often creates a predisposition for me to be more prone to analytical emotions….pensive thought processes abound under the dark skies, and I will often find myself trapped inside with only my mind to keep me company-- its whirring and whizzing through scenarios that somehow always end up with me dissecting myself bit by bit, and left wanting. I felt this process kick into motion as the clouds rolled in over the mountains---felt the rush of emotions rise within me—but this time, rather than succumbing to these sadness-twinged inklings, I rebelled! And, reaching for the polish, I chose two colors that meant something to me….black and white. Because, on a day of gray, I still can remember that there is absolute truth…that the yin and yang of the darkness and light very much create beauty and contrast—and that by stripes I am healed….

Mahalo, Martin Luther King Jr~

2012-01-16T05:32:00.003-10:00

Aloha this day, spent in celebration and remembrance of a man of true integrity and principle, who once shared his beautiful wisdom and keen insight with the world, declaring:

“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant."

Mahalo, Martin Luther King, Jr. for opening our eyes, and courageously carrying your message of love and light to the nations~

Color Your World~

2012-01-15T07:13:00.006-10:00

I love coloring. I don’t exactly even know why, I just do. Maybe it’s something of nostalgia, whispering of times remembered---lying in the light streaming through the "skylight" of our sun-dappled yard, as I filled the spaces between my Rainbow Brite’s cosmic costume and the background of flowers and sky—all with a brilliant kaleidoscope of color. I even remember the smell of the freshly mown grass, the musky scent of the morning’s dew still clinging to my shoeless feet, and my mama’s towering tulip trees, just shady enough to create momentary reprieves from the sun’s welcomed embrace.

My sisters and I would spend hours in Susan Miller’s garden, pretending and dreaming up what our lives would be, and what we wanted to be when we grew up. I, of course, would be Rainbow Brite, naturally. I don’t remember what Meredith and Britainy aspired to exactly, but I am sure it was just….amazing.

Then we would inevitably ask the burning question to decide all questions: “If you were a crayon color, what would you be?!?!?!” My six year old self, not at this stage bogged down by any need for rationale or reason behind my answer(s) in life, would simply look at the colors splayed out on the sunny lawn, and choose exactly which shade I felt at that particular moment. Some days the bright, cheery ones would beckon to me---yellows, hot pinks and flourescents. Other days I was drawn by the dulled, soothing pastels---pretty and non-imposing, they somehow were just right. Or the cool colors---those violet, blue and green jewel tones that calmed, yet had enough character to not lull me into a complete coma.

But most of the time, it was the names that attracted me…that lit something within me—a recognition of sorts, within my very self. GRAY was one I almost never let out of the box (my happy-go-lucky lil’ personage would shudder at even the thought!) CERULEAN was a common favorite—sending imaginings of swirling and swimming through a deep, blue sea. PERIWINKLE sounded like “twinkle”—and who wouldn’t be happy when they think of the word twinkle? RAZZMATAZZ brought with it an attitude and outrageousness---maybe it was all the zzzzzzzzzz’s that were also so fun to me. SHAMROCK—for the days when I felt extra impish, elven—or wanted to pay homage to my enlivened Irish roots. TICKLE ME PINK would occasionally be the choice du jour (although tickling was strictly kept to days when I was in especially good humor—otherwise, don’t touch me!)—because then I would become SCREAMIN’ GREEN!

Yes, I have fond memories of those color-full days in the backyard with my sisters…and still to this day, at the ripe old age of (whispers)…. 29…. (pause for a moment of reverent silence here_____________), I still reach for that coloring book and continue to ask myself about the future. But now, rather than what I want to be—it is a query into who I want to be.

I believe I will forever, by shades and degrees, be answering this....so stay tuned….and go color your world~

Lions, and Tigers, and BACHELORS (oh my...)~

2012-01-11T05:33:00.007-10:00

One (alpha) male.

Twenty five tigresses.

Trailing vines, entwined with red roses.

Preening Peacocks.

Alligator tears.

Venomous snakes.

Hunters.

Prey.

Oh, the carnage!

*And we, separated from it all by the relative safety of a glossy, glass screen….we are the ringleaders~

It’s a zoo out there…crowded with creatures who cannot seem to save themselves---walking right into the jaws of certain death---yet unafraid and eerily swaying to the hypnotic tune of Disney’s dancing dream---of Cinderella, and Prince Charming—and all the unrealistic ugliness that lies in-between.

An animal filled circus—it is hard to look away. But admission ain’t cheap—and will end up costing us everything we are.

And, until we reach up and grab that remote, and stop fueling the madness—the show must go on~

Your Move~

2012-01-08T05:07:00.008-10:00

So I’ve been getting more and more into playing chess these days. I actually used to play often, and had just yet to return to it after several years of boardgame fasting (too many SORRY!!! flashbacks from my tortured, younger sibling days, perhaps??) But, however I got back to this intricate pastime, I am certainly glad that I have.

I remember the time in my life when I was first introduced to chess. My eldest sister was dating a kind man, who took this little, 10-year-old, “mini-Meredith” tagalong and not only allowed me to be their shadow as they made their way around all the cool and hip coffeeshop circuits of the Black Mountains, but he took it a step further and would teach me chess (and proceed to let me win shamelessly---although I did not know it at the time).

I remember fondly the exhilarating feeling of painstakingly planning each move, steam practically surging from my ears as I concentrated—channeling all of the rules and strategies he had shared. How I wanted to show him I was listening, and using wisely the tools he had given me! (and yes, I wanted to beat him too, of course....)

I can see myself now, as I’d set up my moves-always staying two steps ahead—the inner cogs of my brain whirring and reeling as he countered—forced to reassess and roll onward in forward motion. Some days were dizzying, and I’d feel as if I were walking into a trap that I could not yet see—or that I was missing some crucial part of the puzzle piece hidden from my naked eye. In these instances, it wasn’t until I actually made my move that I would come to realize my mistake—to see what I had missed. I remember how defeated I would feel, and frustration with myself abounded. My shoulders would sag—sometimes (okay, oftentimes) there would be tears (mostly of embarrassment or shame). I somehow saw myself as the young grasshopper letting her Mr. Miyagi down.

Yet, in all these instances, no matter how many ill-planned and foolish moves I would make, I somehow knew I would win…every single time…I came out the victor. I would leave the coffeeshop triumphant—barrelchest puffed up, like a bird preening its pretty feathered form. I like to believe that if it was present day I would have shouted some exultation a la Charlie Sheen as I pumped my fists towards the heavens: WINNING!!!!

Yes, those were some sweet memories. So chess will always have a soft spot in my heart. As I play the game now, I most certainly do not always win on the daily…more often than not, in fact, I get pummeled—my arse handed back to me in a flourish of pride-withering fanfare (yes, my friends here enjoy beating me to a pulp, indeed---but I take it like a champ!)

And in light of this new reality check, I understand that I will not always win every single, separate game. I will most likely continue to make moves that make no sense, and are strategically suicidal…and they will cause me to lose. YET (oh how I love that word!) I also am joyously aware that the entire match, when all the games, missteps and moves are said and done---I still have that someone kind looking over me, who loves me so much—enough to arrange it all--- and I always will win, in the end~

Gratitude abounds, this day—and every day~

It’s your move….

To Change One's Life~

2012-01-04T09:59:00.005-10:00

To change one's life:

1. Start immediately.

2. Do it flamboyantly.

3. No exceptions.

~William James~

*We Go*~

Making Moves~

2012-01-01T19:05:00.006-10:00

Benjamin Franklin once said:

"We learn by chess the habit of not being discouraged by present bad appearances in the state of our affairs, the habit of hoping for a favourable change, and that of persevering in search of resources."

This coming year, I believe I will see many moves, and fulfill many different roles in my own life.

Some days I will feel like nothing more than a pawn, one among several--tiny, nondescript, and lined up beside my peers with not much expected of me. Yet on these days, I will take my baby steps, slowly and intentionally make my way forward, and at the end of the road, I will have transformed and become a better, more respected, stronger and powerful being. And I will turn around and face the world better equipped to fight to win.

Maybe there will be wondrous rook moments. Seeing the world from a lofty castle view. Taking strides forward at distance and speeds I never knew possible. Feeling important, and moving from side to side and beyond in smooth, fluid flight.

When darkness comes, and hard times cast evening's menacing shadows over me. I will BE the knight. I will jump over hindrances in brave leaps and bounds, arching over all obstacles in an elegant, L-shaped pattern---indicating Life Lived~

The role of bishop will undoubtedly find me on an unlikely path, taking that road less traveled. I will wander off the beaten path, shunning the straight and arrow, in lieu of delicious, diagonal journeys. Routes with no maps, I will go far, back and forth, and make my way still--and I will pray.

I will feel most powerful when I am queen. I will change my mind often, and go where I want. I will not be bound by others' rules and restrictions. I will not allow their limitations to keep me from making my way. I will realize on these days, how valuable I really am--and just how much worth I have...and I will move about the roads of life with confidence and grace--whichever way I choose.

And everyday I will in my innermost being have the role of King. Knowing that every position that I take--every move that I make---every decision in direction---shifts the entire gameplan of my life. I must be wise, and I must be discerning, and these days my one job---is to stay alive-- and let the game go on~

Cycling, Swiss Miss, Security Risk!

2011-12-26T05:49:00.004-10:00

Best Christmas Gift this year:

Witnessing Obama’s security detail taking down and frisking a slight, 12 year old, freckle-faced, cupie doll, bicycling by the official vacation residence via her Sunflowered Schwinn—SEEMINGLY out to enjoy the sunny Kailua day….OR perhaps she was wielding a firearm in that Hello Kitty knapsack of hers….or a knife, cleverly concealed in her bedazzled Lisa Frank notebook?! Either way…it’s always those ones….you know, the fresh-faced, pre-pubescent peeps that look like they’ve skipped right off of the Swiss Miss Cocoa label that you have to be wary of…

*Way to protect and serve guys…I can sleep safer now, knowing you are out there taking care of the hardened criminals!

Stained Glass, the South, and Sweet Memories~

2011-12-12T09:36:00.007-10:00

A steady work in progress, my Kika is undergoing a makeover. Or, as I like to call it, a renovation. As many of you know, I recently acquired a beat up (but oh so lovely to me) guitar. She is in extreme need of some TLC, but I am not daunted. I want her to feel gorgeous and I want her to sing when all is said and done…so I have not rushed it.

In fact, the very day we met, I drove her home, invited her in, and have since left her to acclimate and simply BE. As I have gone through my days, I have kept my eyes open for beauty…and love….with which to decorate (and renovate!) her. I wanted her to become a true part of me…and who I am is so much of where I come from, and who they are. I called my mom up, and asked a favor….for her to send some sentimental slivers of home via the good old United Parcel Service.

One of my favorite memories from growing up in the South, is going down to the basement art studio that my mom had, and simply watching her create. I remember sitting for hours, and just taking in the magic, her joy in the process, her beauty in motion. I remember her pottery wheel, and how I loved to sit with her as she guided my fingers over the wet clay—observing--amazed as it shifted shape between my tiny (toe)-thumbs. I can still see the huge, cavernous firing kiln, waiting open-mouthed and ready to receive the newest creations of clay.

If I close my eyes, I can hear Carole King, James Taylor and Carly Simon floating through the air…dancing from my mom’s lips in various keys….yet they were all beautiful to me. My favorite part was the towering stained glass bench, glittering with shards of sparkling, stained glass—a kaleidoscope of potential pictures---each a puzzle just waiting to be solved, and soldered together. The smell of the iron still singes my nostrils, and the ssssssssizzle sound it made as the lead liquefied…how I miss that cacophony of creation.

It is this stained glass sentimentality that I sought to bring to my newfound friend---an adornment attaching her to the sweetness of the South—and my childhood joys and blessings-- and mama was gracious to oblige. Mahalo, Mrs Susan Miller, here is a start….thank you for the present pieces, and mahalo for the memories. I love you.

Alii Makua~

2011-12-11T08:02:00.009-10:00

He is a mysterious little lion-man, and not particularly fond of being held.
Rather,
He would be out and about,
Running, exploring, discovering what lies there beyond the yard,
and its tall, green jungle grasses.

When the sun is out,
he will stretch out his sinewy self,
elongating his graceful feline form
up, up and out...
toes curling,
paws pulsing...
out, in, out, in---reaching for his mother's milk....
even though she has long since left.

It's as if sometimes he will forget this absence,
and experience it anew all over again.
Opening his golden, orbed eyes,
aware~

It is a rare jewel,
those instances when he deems me safe enough,
warm enough,
permanent enough, perhaps?
That he allows his personage to plop down in my lap,
nuzzle my neck,
and lets in love.
These are magical moments---rare as moonbeams,
and fleeting just as fast.

I cherish these sweet snippets of softness...when you know you are safe, and you let me in.

*Allow me to introduce Alii Makua....know him, love him.... just don't fence him in~

Flexibility--and flinching~

2011-12-04T09:52:00.009-10:00

"Flexibility" is my F-word.

You know how when you were a little kid (or if you are like my adorable mom, well into your….ah….late thirties...coughs) when you utter those choice words, you lower your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, a hushhhhhhed, humming helluva utterance that is emitted with feeling...

Yes, flexibility ranks high up there in my vault of (oh so "uh-oh") vocab. As with its more common F-bomb counterpart, even hearing its name audibly can cause my entire body to physically react—shrinking away from its ugly frame, as if I have been struck by a blunt force trauma to the brain. Shivers run up and down my spine as I take the spoken word and slice it apart slowly.

After the initial shock (and retro-active, repugnant revulsion) experienced the moment the entity hits my eardrums, comes the secondary (less immediate—and decidedly more calm) reaction of a running back strategizing my next crucial move. (please do notice the term, RUNNING…lest the irony not be missed here)… My instinct is to flee, creating as much distance between this F-word as is humanly possible—and with the utmost speed! Yet, I am learning to fight this panicked, cowardly urge more often than not these days, and plant my twinkle toes firmly in the hot, Hawaiian sand—and let ‘em burn….melting away that manic mentality as well—the one shouting oh so loud to turn, leave, go, run, and hide from (whispers) the dreaded …CHANGE.

And, as each day I fight that temptation to flee, I grow:

Stronger.

Braver.

Calmer.

Fuller.

Freer.

So I’d like to finish this post with a better F-word….freedom…from worry and fret, and from creating ghosts for the future (as I do believe the past has plenty of its own to account for)….and I say bump them all (insert Ross and Monica’s double-fist dramatic diss move (with great hutzpah and pizzazz!) here________ boom boom !))

The Morning Mehs~

2011-12-01T06:08:00.006-10:00

Maybe it’s the holidays. Maybe it’s the break neck pace. Maybe it’s the (whispers)… menses :/

But whatever it is, it was operating in full force this morning as “it” proceeded to wreak havoc on my mental state, paying complete and total disregard for my usual upbeat personality with which I greet the day. The brilliant sunrise, the piping hot cup of morning java, even the toasty warm weather did nothing to dispel…this cranky state in which I came to dwell.

A run. Yes, that’s the ticket. Always a run will refresh anything within me feeling dead…so off we go~ Lacing up the shoes, tugging on my tank, and prepping the ponytail…wide open road, I am ready for you. First step, followed by second stride---now breathe. BREATHE~

The first mile is always the hardest…my muscles aren’t awake yet either…and by the inaudible cries of shrill protest, paired with an irate sense of gross injustice at being drug from their deep slumber and warm bed for this brisk (and brutal) outing—they appear to be non too pleased with this parlay into the pre-dawn paradise of Hawaii’s roadsides. "Shhh" I soothe, as I try to assure them (as well as my brain—which is also putting up quite a fight) that it will feel better soon.

And yes, slowly but surely, as I push through…the muscles begin to let go, I feel them stop resisting, and rallying the troops to work with me…and flow. Likewise, my brain braves the battle of “giving it up”--you know, the worry, the stress, the everything. Gradually, as my legs lift and lengthen, my heart regulates itself to a steady and true beat---thud, thud, thud. My feet somehow match the rhythm—thud, thud, thud-- and all becomes atune—an amazing harmony that heals.

As I continue, the emails waiting to be replied to, the proposal from the client that needs reworking, the latest “misunderstanding” I had with my person, or the helpful, constructive criticism (ah, “advice”) I recently received (unsought of course…) –they melt away—replaced by a myriad of mixed emotions:

Physical Exhaustion.

Mental Limits Reached.

Detoxification.

Purification.

Release.

And I realize again why I run. Sometimes I need to get so tired, that I can't fight myself anymore. And I "get it." I let go, and I realize I am just too damn tired to handle anything else but lying there, with open palms, and letting every other mother 'effin thing pass away...as I listen...and let go.

One day I will figure a way to get to this point of priceless perspective and healing honesty without the need to pound the pavement first…and I do, at times--in moments of shining self-awareness and acceptance, but it is a process…and I know everyday, as I continue to put one foot in front of the other…stride after stride…I am making my way “here”.

Mele Kakalacky~

2011-11-29T08:31:00.007-10:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone here in the islands, and as the holiday season progresses, I am riding a tropical tide of emotions….all within a day I run the gamut from hot to cold…high to low, and everything in between. I will leave my hale, close my door, and look upon its bare bamboo (mom always had the best wreathes…boasting broad, balsam boughs pungent with the scent of pine). Sensing the familiar swell of sadness, I forge ahead, one foot in front of the other down my porch steps, and break into the bright Hawaiian sunshine—its warmth creating a gracious and welcome “wonderland” entirely suited to this sun-lovin' gypsy rose. I sigh in remembrance and thanks as I peer down at my bare toes peeping through my sandals—in late November.

Continuing on, I pass my landlady’s porch, freshly decorated with their holiday arbor. As I breathe in the balmy scent of the Christmas pine, and survey the scene---a turvy of tinkling lights, mobile, dancing reindeer and god-awful florescently lit, life-size Santa baubles….I am transported back, an ocean away, to my childhood in North Carolina. I can almost hear the lilting voices of the carolers spreading cheer—can almost see those same small smoke signal shafts of air sent swirling through the frosty evening air as they belted out their holiday harmonies in one accord.

I scurry faster to the car, I cannot afford to linger longer. I rev the engine and back out, pulling myself together and reminding my heart of the fact that I am presently on my way to a wondrous, Waimea swim---in late November. I then take a breath, and count to three. One…Two…Thrrrrr…..and then it begins…the radio crackles to life and (of course) the first thing I hear…”It’s Beginning to Look A lot Like Christmas!”…..(and I have to correct the faceless voices, ummm NOOO it’s not :/ Utterly annoyed (only because I realize how very much I wanted them to be telling me no lies!) I reach down to switch the station….and...okay, this is more like it… wafting through the radio waves is:

‘“Mele Kalikimaka" is the thing to say,
On a bright Hawaiian Christmas Day,
That's the island greeting that we send to you
From the land where palm trees sway,
Here we know that Christmas will be green and bright,
The sun to shine by day and all the stars at night,
Mele Kalikimaka is Hawaii's way
To say "Merry Christmas to you."’

Oh…the roller coaster of emotions at Christmas! I want off this train!

So…today I have decided to get creative….go crazy….be crafty…and bring the best of both of my lives and loves and homes this holiday. Here in Hawaii we say “Mele Kalikimaka”….but this southern girl from "North Kakalacky" has still got some roots running deep.

*To all those who I am missing this holiday, just know I am representin’ from the islands, and am ever grateful in my heart for you, especially this season.

This is my winter song to you…

http://vimeo.com/32793293

Kika Belle~

2011-11-23T23:58:00.004-10:00

She's a work in progress...

and she's beautiful~

http://vimeo.com/32616127

Beautiful to me~

2011-11-15T12:16:00.006-10:00

Apple orchards. Pumpkin and Peppermint. Firewood burning. Smoke rising over the Blue Ridge. Fall colors fading. Meredith. My other half. Sophie. Justine. Susan. Momasita. Bubba Roo. Asheville. Mountain Java. Sweater weather. Big bed. Jacuzzi tub. Hugs. Kisses. Blue Ridge Mountain folks. Brueggers mornings. Tea time with the girls. SISTA time. Britainy. Jo-jo. A real HOMEY home. Sleeping in a bed. Nana bean. Julie, Britainy, and new babies…pretty preggy ladies. Snowy walks. Hot tea. COFFEE. Greenlife. Mountain men—with bushy beards.….Stinky patchouli hippies (I swear those rock crystals do NOT work)…go for the DEO! Artists and musicians…libertarians…fruitarians. Readers and dancers and mosaic makers. Contra Dancing. Warren Wilson. Drum circles. Art festivals. Farmers Markets. Downtown on Friday nights. Open Mics. Vegan voo doo. Karma crazies. ASHEVILLE. Brothers-in-law…brothers in all. Laughter. Warmth. Family. Holidays. Peppermint Tea. Freedom to be me. Love. Affection. Kiddos. Elven children. Rainbow mountains. Movies. Libraries. Ma mere. Tight –wrinkle-ruffle shirts from Amherst county fairs…and the women who sell them. Maloprops. Fresh Market. LIGHT. Christmas. Thanks/giving.

You are beautiful to me….more and more each day I am away~

My Kika~

2011-11-13T15:00:00.004-10:00

So I’ve been missing home a lot these days. “Home,” as in….those blue ridge mountains of the Carolinas—and the small group of beautiful, quirky cooks I call kin. It seems everywhere I turn lately I am reminded of something I miss about that majestic mountain valley. Pumpkin coffee emerging at the island 711…is not exactly Mountain Java’s cup o’ joe. Holiday lights strung along the palm tree lanes of Waikiki—smell nothing like pine to me, and frequenting the ONE pumpkin patch on the west side of da ‘aina just doesn’t feel quite right in my spaghetti strap sundress at a toasty 85 degrees.

Yes, I love, love, love my island ohana and community, but how very much do I ache for my family….extending all the way up to ma mere in Virginia, and that peaceful farmhouse that was my haven for so long. On days when I get more wistful, I have chosen to fight, to pick the present—and to peer through eyes of gratitude at this paradise---my place. I still miss the tea kettle whistling, the call of the contra with my feet tapping and skirt swirling, tinkling, elfin giggles of two pretty princess nieces as they scribble the sidewalks with chalk—and mostly their loving earth goddess mama, my picture of who I pray I can mirror more each day.

This mindset was mine as I walked the streets of Waikiki this last week…*the STREETS, not the CORNER, mind you….and I saw something catch my eye…yes, she WAS on the corner, in fact though...

A crappy, old, stringless, guitar was laying on the edging outskirts of an impromptu “garage sale.” She wasn’t pretty, and she certainly wasn’t useful at present…tossed aside in the hopes that some schmuck would come and actually put down some dough for the delight of taking this hunk of junk home. *Allow me to introduce myself….

And allow me to introduce her: my kika~

Over the course of the next two months, I am going to be loving her, getting to know her, cleaning her up, taking care of her, and making her sing, one day at a time. Yesterday, I took her to the "spa"….she has been exfoliated and buffed…and I can already tell she felt more beautiful--with each passing stroke of the sandpaper…she knows she has been seen—the potential—is present, and we go~

In two months it is Christmas. My gift to her is renewed life, and a new voice. My gift to me is a renewed voice—IN my new life. A thankful trill coming from the depths of a heart reminded--I am a woman most blessed...alone or surrounded with sisters...still or swaying amid a party of people...most blessed, indeed.

Mahalo, Kika Belle, I see you.

Autumn in the Islands~

2011-11-05T17:29:00.004-10:00

Aloha Autumn.

You were missed.

E Komo Mai~

Small Wisdom.

2011-10-17T17:41:00.008-10:00

Things Kids Say~

Have you ever been truly astounded by something surprisingly profound a small child has said to you? It happened to me today…as it admittedly often does. But this time was different…it was so fitting…so welcomed….so right.

As I was leaving my studio, the little neighbor girl runs up to me and tugs on my skirt. I look down into her big blue eyes and wait with patient expectation of forthcoming actual words *and an eventual end to the frantic tugging that is presently threatening to disrobe me. And I wait…still going…there…”Aunt Andy (tug, tug) …igotstatellyousumfin!”

I wait..(tug, tug) “itsumfinreeeeeelyimpawtunt….I need to ask!” Still waiting. “Have you ever had this, this THING right in the pit of your tummy, chewing away at you, HURTING you, and you just can’t seem to get it gone? And you just KNOW that you need to have it not inside anymore…so you can stop hurting?!”

Whoa. Talk about profound. I stare wide-eyed at this small kid, and wonder at her intuitiveness, her insight into my deepest heart these days. Yes. I know that feeling. Yes. I have been there. Yes. Sometimes it feels like I live there. I want to respond with so much, yet curb myself…and I just nod and reply, “Ellie, I know exactly how you feel, sweetheart. Want to talk about it?”

She jumps up and gets one millimeter from my nose….and shouts exultingly “YOU ate too much macaroni and cheese last night too?!?!?!?” “I don’t think there is anything to say, but mommy says I just need to poo!”

As I smile and walk away, I am reminded that maybe I had slightly overestimated the depth of wisdom of my little neighbor…but then again…maybe not. I realize there IS commonality there….it all rings true. The ending remains…sometimes you just need to get rid of the crap, get it gone~

Yes please~

Quills~

2011-09-09T11:57:00.007-10:00

The prickliest of small species, a coat of unremarkable hue.

Soft haired, smooth to the touch, soothing to the stroke.

But mixed within, are needle-like nametags.

Cautionary cue cards, warning…

I am no easy meal.

Maybe I once was,

Softer

Malleable

Open.

Now there are sharp spines

Protecting A Spine.

Quills of defense,

Wielding ink,

Warding off all vulnerability

with timid tenacity,

formidable fear.

I am sharp.

always alert.

I will be ready the next time

will keep myself safe.

Safe if I anticipate...

safe if he keeps his distance, and lets me be

For these downy daggers can’t be shot, as some believe.

You’ve to touch me.

Often wished I could be as a wasp

Enough venom for once…and then all is pau.

Yet, I will regrow these quills..and scatter the casualties among the lost.

Fear is my friend…preserving life.

Fear is my foe…preventing life.

I am a porcupine.

Vive Le Difference!

2011-08-16T05:38:00.004-10:00

Yesterday I woke up, planning on meeting up with Ari for an early AM tennis match. Any of you who know me, know I cherish my mornings, sacrificing copious amounts of sleep, all for the sake of never missing one single, sparkling sunrise. For me, I guess, it’s the symbol of starting everything afresh, a brand new beginning of one 24 hour cycle of possibility….an open hand just waiting to be filled, and held. There is something sacred about rising while the rest of the world is still asleep…reveling in the wonder of a new day’s dawning, and simply renewing hope…intentioning goodness beneath the shadow of the sun’s warm rays bursting forth—beckoning you to come, and live. Yes, mornings are my favorite friends.

I told Ari I would meet him after the sunrise, making my way to my local coffeeshop and picking up a cup o’ joe to go. As I sat waiting, I delighted in the sole company of my thoughts, the cool breeze of the early morning, and the lulling ebb and flow of the ocean’s waves. I have realized I like alone time….I believe I need it more than others I know. In fact, at times when I find it scarce or hard to come by in my life, I find myself physically aching to just get back to that solitude, that shelter of serenity and solace, found only (for me at least) when I am truly alone, breathing and being myself. I do not worry about what my countenance looks like, no words need be spoken, and the silence is sweet, and sustains me for the times to come, when the din and clamor of the world become a cacophony almost unbearable to my senses. THIS is what makes my days…aloha subtle sunrise. I see you peeking over the horizon, and I welcome you to this day…do stay for awhile.

Filled, I make my way to Ari and we head to the tennis courts, fully prepared to beat the crap out of each other (with love, of course). I am excited, this is one of the few activities we seem to really like doing together, and otherwise we do our own things and meet up when we can…so this was going to be a rare treat. We pull up to the park, anticipation filling our hearts…only to find the courts closed for maintenance! BOOOO. I am bummed, because I know this was a small window of time I had to share with Ari before we both had to go to work and the day set into full swing. I plan on going hiking instead, and Ari decides to come along. So any of you who know me (again) will also know I very much like going hiking ALONE. I treasure the time just me versus the mountain, testing my strength and climbing, climbing, climbing…listening to that mountain…tell me what I’m made of…and what it’s all about. So for me to go with Ari was already a miracle in itself. I wondered how it would be, but was happy he wanted to share time, so off we went.

We got there and the minute we got out of the car and the trail lay open before us, I felt the adrenaline surging, the effervescent energy that always comes with being outdoors in the sunshine bubbling up within me, and I felt breathless and giddy with the thought of what joys lay ahead! I wanted to go, go, go! Woo hoo! As we set off, and were talking, I realized I was already nosing ahead, like a wild horse who’s just been bridled for the first time and isn’t sure she likes it, but still wants to have that connection with the new owner….so she submits to the temporary discomfort, trying to learn the new ways. Ari, bless his beautiful heart, felt this…and knew his peaceful pace of meandering through the wilderness (which provides him with the utmost joy) is a bit of a snoozefest for his fairy companion…who wanted to fly away fast, and free. He urged me ahead and gave me the green light to simply GO.

And I did.

I went. And ran. And reveled in the beauty. And giggled and oohed and ahhed at the wonder of it all. Free to go at my own pace, I climbed, climbed, climbed…the crisp mountain air filling my lungs. My heart beat faster and faster, and I laughed….alone on top of that towering mound of earth, I melted into the most rich and full hysterics…of happiness. And I thanked God for friends and loved ones, who know me, and allow me my "eccentricities" of individuality, and echo my exultant cry from man to woman to fairy to warrior….from milkman to lawyer to JHi and Pdizzle and Good N’ Plenty (or M&M or whatever his name is)… "Vive Le Difference.”

Dear B~

2011-08-07T15:58:00.006-10:00

Dear B,

I must apologize if you were confused by my beehavior this last week. I did not mean to send you mixed messages. I had heard of your reputation from your godmother, and she just sang your praises. I couldn’t wait to meet you. But then I also have experienced others of your kind, and have felt the sting when things have gone awry. Forgive me, for I was afraid.

I visited you…journeyed far to your home, and all the while great anticipation filled my heart. I wanted (and still want) to learn all there is to know about you, and here was my chance. When I first heard your voice…I was mesmerized…the vibration of your lilt lulled my senses and I knew right then…you were something special. Your scent took my breath away…a rich, earthy aroma…one I have never known before….I can’t quite find a word deep or wide enough to embody the fragrance of your form. It is just…magical…it leaves me finding myself leaning forward always, on an endless search for the wind to carry the wonder of you back to me…desiring an ever-stronger scent to fly to me forever.

I listened to your voice from a distance for several moments, and I basked in the balmy, heady haven of your aromatic essence…I drank you in…but dared not come closer. I can tell you speak a different language than my own native tongue. I cannot place the origin of your homeland…or else I would run and read every book I could find, if it lead me to a translation of your truth(s). But no, you are not conversing in common English, nor do you talk in Turkish, or a romantic European dialect. Yours is an ancient tongue of old, and I long to hear it more and more....that I may speak with you fully, and understand what you would whisper in my ear. I have an inkling that this is a language I cannot study per se, and one unmarked by time or space…but rather an eternal awareness of its always being….HERE, and known... somehow. I await the whispers to make sense to me…and until they do, I will sit in stillness…coming ever closer…to hear them clear as bells. Bells ringing in my ears…buzzing through my brain….healing my heart.

Next time, I promise to come closer…I will fight the fear, put away the preconceived….and sit with you awhile~

The Art Of Beeing~

2011-08-03T17:09:00.008-10:00

I learned the art of bee-ing today. Beekeeping that is.

Somewhere, along Oahu’s Eastern shores, a small section of land-- a hidden Hawaii garden may be found. Nestled in the shadows of the Koolau Mountains, wild integrity winds its way as a golden thread; the sweetness of the honey from its combe paling in stark comparison to the rich, wondrous satiety found in the company of fellow sojourners…come to see….simply how to be(e).

Make your way down the winding drive, surrounded on all sides by vast valley views and the looming, misty mountains of Old Hawaii *and don’t mind Mani…he is just the resident sheep…he’ll not bite. Nor allow yourself to be distracted by the strut of the rooster hoping his swagger will sway your fancy. *I must admit he is quite dashing~

Are you hungry? How about an avocado? Tiptoes now…reach for it…that one, there…yes, that’s the one! Feel its bumpy skin give a little, your thumbprint indelibly leaving its impression until you can stand it no more, slice the juicy goodness in half and devour its luscious innards. Dessert soon follows….mountain apples abound…bananas also beg to be picked and sampled. Go on, feel free~

Swing wide the gate, and enter in…welcome. Yes, this was the imperative invitation: Well, come.

And it did.

Daien, the beekeeper of beauty and grace, ushered us into this world today. A world of order, of diligence, of peaceful productivity, and an animal orb of orchestrated energy and divine design. Busyness here is beautiful, and blessed. Work is not said as if it is spelled with four letters…it is sung, and held out and continued in one elongated breath as if it were one eternal syllable.

This world’s inhabitants themselves are neither friendly nor hostile…they are simply living and working. They live and breathe…coexist…create and birth their own royalty…protect themselves from outsiders…even kill their own kind on occasion. They survive. They thrive…. And they will eventually die. They are not safe, but they are lovely. They are not unsafe, but they will sting you. They are.

They create a magical manna….a golden goodness dripping from the catacombs of their closeknit colonies…and we devour its nourishing essence as if starved souls in search of the sustenance that can be found only in its sticky sweetness. One taste and we are ruined for all other imitations… unheeding decorum and all manners, attracted to its sultry scent we lose our heads…it dribbles down our chins…we lick our hands in hope of catching any final remnants of its joyful juices. It is honey, and it is good~

Indeed, I learned the art of being today~

Bee itch~

2011-08-02T13:37:00.005-10:00

Last week I met a Beekeeper….yes, a real life beekeeper…and she…OH! woman full of worldly travels and hard-won wisdom that she is, has lived several lifetimes and has yet to stop sojourneying! When I met her, I was so excited to have been introduced to an actual beekeeper…for some reason I have always been fascinated by this trade….and have likened it to the mysteriously lovely keepers of the lighthouse of long ago, or ferry men that used to row the boats back and forth across rivers, or bipartisan politicians….you know, all of those things you always heard were “out there” in this world at one point and time, but never actually got to see for your own very eyes….and here she was…earth-goddess-mama-beekeeper-shining-light-lady~

I still can’t pronounce her name (it is that cool), and I am sure it means something amazing profound and enlightening….I am quite sure in fact. I have only heard a short snippet of her story, but oh what a story it is…and tomorrow I am going to her farm to meet the bees, and to sit at her feet and just soak up her stories like a sponge….schluuuuuuuurp~

She tells me that much can be learned from bees…about our life, about ourselves, about divine order, everything and nothing... and much, much more.

I look forward to introducing myself to these makers of honey, and teachers of life….and very much look forward to being educated about all therein. Perhaps they can enlighten me (since they are surrounded by it on the daily) on the art to dealing with sweetness, yet not letting it overpower you…on diligence and teamwork, and not killing one another in these cramped colonies and honeycombs, on daily making their way about without getting mired down by the stickiness of it all…

Scratch.

2011-08-02T13:21:00.005-10:00

Good morning sunshine, and thus my 30^th year on this earth begins…

Armed with a cup of coffee and pen poised….I remember.

I remember the return from Europe, where I came home from a fairytale…to a fairytale. The trip that taught me so very much about other cultures; different countries; myself----and the elusive concepts of “home” and “family.” The journey that opened my eyes to how very little I knew, and yet how very wise I can be, if I allow myself the space and time…and really look closely. Stop to feel that still, small voice—those inner words of (whispers) “wisdom.” Wisdom hard earned and costly…but wisdom nonetheless.

I recollect this exact same day last year vowing to myself adamantly that I indeed WOULD NOT be residing in my same humble jungle abode next year…only to waken today as I look around my same small “shanty by the sea” adamantly grateful to simply still be here, in Hawaii, safe and (most importantly!) roommate free!

I recall the people who have come and gone this year. Some steady satellites, orbiting around me always…yet never quite in my tangible physical realm…yet I feel them all the same…daily, surrounding me. Some are constant companions…the daily phone calls and the text messages just reaching out to “touch base” and let me know I am being thought of. The “community coasters”….those who I see at the grocery store, or the Farmer’s Market….we are cordial in passing; they remember my face always; I genuinely like them; they won’t recall my name tomorrow. And my person, my best friend, who is the last conversation at the end of the day…assuring me that I am not alone in this world…even when it may feel like it.

This year I have sold coffee with a smile (and some rockin’ glitter), slung hash (Lord, please never again), traveled the world like a solo gypsy rose, written copious amounts of “creative writing,” ---sold an article or two or three (sprinkled here and there,) and even landed myself a real, (albeit at times snoozefest) of a steady job…and I have reached that day (yes, today) of sitting here in my room and thinking to myself……

*Damn, it is quiet in here...

*I am sure I have some work I could be doing right now...

*My nose is running...

*My nose itches...

*My heart itches....

I will scratch…and silence this itch~

Ariday's Waltz~

2011-07-08T16:28:00.003-10:00

Now speech mirrors thought

Mind-chards, Riddles, rhymes, Haiku

I left the light on

Smiles saccharin, won’t blink

Smokes that cigarette, close-shaved

Brazilian wax figure

Steel blue eyes, ignite

Campfire lit circle of three

Whistling tea kettle

Chants, beautiful sound

Message lost in translation

I left the door cracked

Looking back, beauty

Dark and light contrast, today

Awakens to life

I dreamt a sweet dream

Lovely, I swayed to the tune

My ariday’s waltz

Simplicity is

Love offered, returned, and shared

LIFE whispers you Home.

Poetry for naked people~

2011-06-06T07:12:00.006-10:00

Beat up. Beat down. Beating.

This battered mix. Emotions. Fever. Pounding. Pounded …

flat.

A liquid, runny....running

Batter.

Tossed over the flames..

Heated. Flipped. Upside down. Bubbles over. Changes form...until it's "done"

Doused in sticky syrup…that strangling sweetness.

Succumbs to the sugar…swims in it. Soaks in it. Drowns in it.

This apparent divinity….strangling.

Sleepy, lethargic. numb.

Bleeding beauty, holes in this…holds in this….holiness.

Transitory heart, may you find your home.

Unpack your bags, undress. Find solace in the nakedness.

Wash your hands. Let down your hair. Look Him in the eye.

He sees life in you. Light in you. Good and right in you.

Longing heart, pieces are scattered.

You are battered.

You are blessed.

You are wholeness.

Walk in this

Newness~

Preach It~

2011-05-02T07:41:00.003-10:00

Once again, my mother has blessed me with an introduction to a book both encouraging and challenging. I am currently reading Ann Voskamp’s book “One Thousand Gifts,” and as I do so, I am uplifted, my soul buoyed to the surface of sustaining truth. Yet, at the same time, I am cut to the quick, humbled at the (at times) harshness of the reality of what I am reading. And I am understanding that truth is not always comfortable….that truth can hurt…but that truth, it always heals.

In this book, through the author’s eyes and words…and her unabashedly honest recollection of a journey through the valleys of one life...with its deep, dark furrows and gullies characterized by one common denominator…ingratitude. I am trying to place my finger on why this book moves me so, and at such a season in my life as it came to cross my heart’s path. The best I can verbalize is that the author has recognized her ingratitude….yet she is not wallowing in a pool of guilt over it…she is naming it and calling it out. Unearthing it from the depths of her innermost being…and renaming what she first saw as fear, or simple lack of faith..into what was really the root…lack of gratitude. I am stopped in my tracks as I read her words….yet they have been my words too:

“Though I can hardly whisper it, I live as though He stole what I consider rightly mine: happiest children, marriage of unending bliss, long, content, death-defying days. I look in the mirror, and if I’m fearlessly blunt—what I have, who I am, where I am, how I am, what I’ve got—this simply isn’t enough. That forked tongue darts daily and I live the doubt, look at my reflection, and ask: Does God really love me?”

The premise of this book was a challenge given to the author (a farmer’s wife, and stay at home mother of 6) to simply make a list of 1,000 gifts in her life. As I read her words, I see the transformation…and I am healed in those tucked away corners of my hurting heart…when she lists “Jam piled high on toast” or “Little, lisped prayers”…my heart swells with it….the recognition of His goodness. The blessings in the mundane, that aren’t mundane at all. Showing me that in the simplest things, the sacred still can be found.

This book is literally a work that breathes life into one’s soul in the reading of it. It is not a hard concept to grasp: give thanks. And receive (and recognize) the abundance all around…swirling in sweet, sustaining winds…whispering the wonder of it all, this life, this time we have…I don’t want to waste in blindness anymore. For I see now:

“I have lived the runner, panting ahead in worry, pounding back in regrets, terrified to live in the present, because here-time asks me to do the hardest of all: just open wide and receive”~

As I read, I realize how simple it could be to read and even receive beautiful truths...these priceless pearls of light and resurrection life—only to shelve them, collect them…let them sit and stagnate, as I gaze up at them in admiration. I speak of them to others, and praise the virtue of their wisdom…yet I do not LIVE them.

So I go, today…now…and take my final cue from the author.

“I do what I always need to do. I preach it. I preach it to the person I need to preach to the most. I preach to me.”

GIVE THANKS~

Really free...

2011-04-25T08:37:00.003-10:00

I have often heard that old saying: “You don’t get something for nothing.” Well for me, this morning, I witnessed the far reaching impact of this quote on our world’s belief system.

The day started out like any other normal day. Mondays is my Waikiki office day. I rise in the pre-dawn darkness for a quick run, a shower, and to scoot to catch the express bus into town. I was tired and sleepy, and not feeling the commute, but off I went. Two and a half hours later (bleh) and here I was in Waikiki, with two hours to go before I even am able to begin my full day of work….it’s gonna be a Loooooong day. Get in line and am doing my thing, and he walks up to stand beside me in line. You know him. That guy. The too-loud-talking, too-close-standing, too-much-cologne-wearing, too-much-EVERYTHING guy.

As he (smiling ear to ear) nonchalantly scoots closer to get a better look at the.....ahem…case of pastries….I politely return a cursory smile, then proceed to scoot myself as far in the opposite direction as the line will allow. Undeterred, Smiley nicely comments on my pretty purple dress and how it matches my nails AND shoes. At first I act as if I do not hear, as I am intently studying the menu…the sizes can be tricky at Starbucks, you know….tall is actually a small, grande isn’t the largest size as you might think, and so on… …really, one must focus…really ;)

When no reaction was received, Smiley steps closer, enshrouding me amid a cloud of cologne that sends my stomach lurching…* or maybe that was the combo of cologne and his hot breath I felt just cross my face * yes, that was definitely a factor… I decide finally that this mister is definitely not going anywhere, and in a moment of shame for my previous “rudeness” and lack of cordiality (my southern mama would chide me to be sure!) I decide that Pono must be practiced! So I turn to him and engage him with a disarming smile and tell him a very sincere thank you, and that is kind of him to say, fully feeling like the paranoid jerk that I must be (Andy, he was just being a nice guy, why are you so uptight, sister?!?!?) And, fully ashamed of myself, I said a quick prayer to help me be more pono today and then followed that with one last friendly smile at the gentlemen, and then the standard, telltale sendoff that is universal to all that the convo is OVER: “You have a nice day!” *and turn the back * Ah. Sigh of relief….well fielded!

But….no. Alas, no. Smiley had to take it that last step…asking (and inching…) if EVERYTHING (wink, wink!) matches. Frozen, I turn slowly just to make sure I have hear right (Surely not!)…and not until I catch his eye…and, elevators go up, elevators go down…and then that eyebrow. Yes, I was right…cad. I send him a withering look that lets him know he will NOT be receiving an answer to his cute little query THIS morning, at least not from this braud! And I turn, feeling very world-weary and drained, and grab my cup of coffee and scurry to the furthest corner I can to enjoy my joe in silence…and solitude!

It had not been five minutes (really, FIVE) until out of the corner of my eye I see a haggard, homeless man staring at me from the window….it was unnerving to say the least. Shifting in my chair, I tried to avoid eye contact. And then, yes, he opens the door to the store, and of all the chairs (all open as it is 5am mind you) he comes and sits right beside me. I take a breath and prepare myself, saying a quick prayer to be gracious when he begs me for something. I am ready for him…I mean, why else would he have set SO CLOSE to me when so many other chairs are open? He does not give me much time to wonder or prepare, as he looks me straight in the eye, and with the smallest whisper, asks if he may sit awhile…assuring me that he doesn’t want to bother me…and that he means no harm, but if he sits here in this corner he will be okay because, “the lady who takes people’s money doesn’t like me too much…because I don’t spend much money here. But I don’t smell bad…I just got me a shower at the beach…I promise…I won’t bother you I swear, miss..”

Good God, the pain I felt in my chest, coupled with the utter self-loathing I felt on my inner heart was overwhelming. I looked into that man’s eyes, (waiting for MY PERMISSION to simply have a seat)…*who am I* to grant this? And I look around sun-(and money) drenched Waikiki, with the wealthy tourists sipping their lattes, and glance down at my own banana and coffee on the table beside me…I am humbled. I look straight into this man’s eyes…and ask him what he would like for breakfast. He looks at me as I looked at smiley….to make sure he heard me right…and yes, he did. Once this initial shock is over, we have another hurdle…the what’s-in-it-for-you questioning glance. I assure him it is free. Twice. And then a third time in a different words. And finally, a fourth time, when he has asked, “Is there something I should know?” I look at him, and stop trying to reassure and just say….”I just had my breakfast, and feel like I’d like you to have some too….I am a selfish little woman, as I do not like to eat alone…humor me please.” And, for me, this kind man did me this favor.

As we sat down to a morning feast…complete with egg sandwiches and a “cup-of-china” he ordered…I marveled at how childlike and excited he looked now as he ate and smiled…and how very long it took me to get him to believe that I wanted nothing but to bless and love on him this morning…and that nothing was needed from him but to receive.

This, the day, after Easter, and whose timing is not lost on me…I was blessed by a stranger, and shown firsthand a glimpse of what God feels for us, and the sadness it must bring Him when we will not just believe He wants to bless us, and let Him, and receive goodness.

This day, I was given the chance to practice resurrection. And while I did not expect anything in return for my kindess, the gratitude received from this man, was beautiful, and only served to double my joy in the giving.

He is risen…and calls me to rise….and uplift~

Static~

2011-04-12T11:53:00.003-10:00

Woke up this morning feeling light. I have been on a sabbatical of sorts these last days/weeks. Taking a break from (okay, maybe hiding from) the world. I’ve “shushed” myself, and sought…trying to listen in a world that, frankly, had become deafening. Loud and cluttered, the Television offering more bad news, the radio with its constant rotation of blaring, Bieber bop and rhyming, oh so profound gangsta rap (mmm tizzz…what, what…*no, really…what?*), the ringing telephone, the buzzing texts, the facebook popups…the chatter….these things I call my “static”…breaking up the clear signal I was so desperately seeking. SHUSH… so I can hear the message I am trying to channel….the words are garbled and cutting in and out…static running interference again and again.

Must.

Eliminate.

The.

Static….

(And I did.) I turned off the TV, began to appreciate the silent drive to town….windows rolled down to the tune of the rhythmic waves…ebb and FLOWing those BEats. I silenced my phone and stilled the shaking texts. Facebook fell to the wayside, and everything…every single thing…stilled.

At first the silence was almost as deafening as the static had been, Time had overnight seemed to multiply. What exactly had I done with my 24-sectioned slots before? I can’t scarcely say…but what I do know is that the silence, at first scary and foreign….soothed. Soothed like a lullaby from the lips of the most nurturing earth mama, this soul of mine drank it up like a cool, glass of water in the middle of the Sahara. If I could swim in this silence, I would. I would race to it with every ounce of speed and energy I could expel, cannonball into its depths-- let the waves crash over me, and wash me clean.

“In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth.” Gandhi~

Four, Syllable Words (Spoken)....

2011-04-03T09:06:00.003-10:00

*(let there) BE LIGHT~

Gimme Gimme...

2011-03-29T07:35:00.006-10:00

I am heading into the “big city” to negotiate my writing contract (again) this morning. I woke up early…could not sleep…knowing what lies ahead of me…negotiations (shudder).

Negotiations requiring so much that it makes my head spin just thinking about it.

Negotiations calling for confidence, for courage.

Negotiations demanding determination and decisiveness.

Negotiations selling my strengths, and owning my weaknesses.

Negotiations selling …myself….and owning…what I want.

I lace up my trusty sneakers, head out into the still dark pre-dawn morning , and I run.

I run for miles. I run forever. I run for answers.

I run for myself.

I run in search of myself, and the response to that question that I know is coming….”What are your expectations, Miss Miller?”

When asked what I want to be paid….how will I answer what I am “worth?”

When asked what I am wanting exactly...how am I to say what I "deserve?"

When asked what I can bring to the table…....how will I "sell" myself ?

When asked to choose between fulltime and freelance….how will I decide between the longing for stability versus that fierce fight for freedom raging within me?

When asked what I want….how will I tell you…I want it ALL.

Stride by stride, I succumb to the sensations swirling around me. My muscles burn. My mind spurns… more thoughts…and they turn…over and over…mulling…musing…running ahead…running alongside…running behind…me.

Gemma Hayes has a song that I love…with a line that voices so much…with so few words.

“Today I ran for miles. Just to see what I was made of.”

* And yes, Gemma. I did *

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

Everyday~

2011-02-27T15:44:00.003-10:00

Mornings. Beginnings.

The sun shines in the garden

Wake, and create. Day.

Raw, restless, calloused

They belong in the garden

Wand’ring feet of mine

Shoes silence the sense

I cannot feel the garden

Its blades beneath me

Barefoot steps, running

I long to tread this garden

Bearing, nakedness

Nowhere an entrance

Guard in gate, she’s come unhinged.

Opens gait, runs free.

Every morning’s prayer:

“Gratitude, Joy, Eyes that See”

Everyday Eden.

Shadow Lands.

2011-02-06T08:22:00.006-10:00

Backed into a corner, you are trapped. Taunted. Teased. Torn apart from limb to limb…mocked. Mistreated. Ignored. Judged.

The harsh light looms above you….its heat unbearable as every flaw, every weakness, your scars---your imperfections—exposed.

They close in on you…trap you in a corner…their formidable figures block you in…their bodies form a circle enclosing you—the sinister shadows they cast dance upon the wall—this wall, yes that’s the one, the one your nose is pressed upon…the one you are backed up against…the one you have been climbing for years---for decades---for life.

And all this time, you have closed your eyes--to forget….and you DREAM: (of)

Standing before the jury,

Undefined---nothing.

Identity--lost.

Charged---criminal.

Incarcerated—prisoner.

Death penalty—judged.

Escape.

------

This dream becomes your fantasy…your lost reality. Hope gives way to heartsick hankering—for rest—for peace—for an end to all of …this.

This hurt. This pain. This loneliness that crushes.

This seems too much. The judging, taunting, encircling crowd…the shadows.

But these shadows are not real. It is only light reflecting---off different shapes and forms—and my…my interpretation of it…the shadows…like clouds…I can shape in my mind…I can see them differently…shape…shadows….sight…SEE.

Escape is the dream….

Yet to SEE the truth come into the light—risen beyond the shadows--is reality.

------

"Fear has a large shadow, but he himself is small.”—Ruth Gendler

-----

Praying today, that the dark shadows are seen for what they truly are…and that we realize we are loved…we are GOOD…and we are children of LIGHT~

Liquid Drops Of Laughter~

2011-01-13T02:50:00.005-10:00

For the last three days, it has been a torrential downpour of precipitation on the islands of Hawaii. Rain, rain, rain…and more rain. The first day I awoke to the pitter-pattering of scattered showers across my windowpane…and it was lovely. I laid my head down that evening to a lullaby of moonshadowed mists. Just divine.

The second day I awoke to the dew-drenched lawn; lush with fresh green patches nurtured by the previous day’s deluge. I drank in the moist air, grateful for the welcome change from our usual 24/7-sunshine. By mid afternoon, when all my errands were done, I nestled into my peacechair and napped amid the tender aquatic trill. The day trickled into night, which found me duck-diving into my pillow, submerging myself deep beneath the ocean of droplets, tap dancing across my dreams. Just perfection.

This, the third day, I am rudely rousted from bed by the earth-shattering thunder which now rattles my rooftiles—giving the house I live in what appears to be a heaving tummy ache-- it grumbles and groans under the onslaught of “nausea,” which the waves of rain have no doubt induced. I stagger to the windowpane, met by a menacing streak of lightning –its crash and subsequent splinter of light the only brightness to be found. Where has that sun gone, anyway? I open the door to retrieve the morning paper…only to see the mangled heap of a pre-recycled, inkblot-covered, paper mache puddle staring up at me in its place. * Nice *

I retreat inside and ransack my closet, rustling around in the back until I find my dusty raincoat. *ZIIIIIIIIP *…..Mad dash to the mitsubishi….and I am on my way. Having not been to the store in almost three days leaves an already meager cupboard quite bare, so off to the store we go. I pull into the deserted parking lot (I mean, really…what kind of IDIOT goes out on errands on a day like THIS?) I cut my engine and begin my breathing exercises I have been learning at my granola-cruncher yoga classes….center—center—“I am ONE with the earth…the wind, the rain, the sun, the moon,…the wind, the rain…OH-WHO-AM-I-KIDDING?!?!?!?” Bugger! CLICK---SCRAMBLE---SLAM…slop, splish, splash, skid….and I am IN!

Let’s see: Hummus (check) Baby Carrots: (Check) Bananas (Check) Soy Milk (Check) Coffee (Oh HELL YES, GOT it!) ….bleep, bleep, bleep, scan, scan, cha-ching… "That’ll be (a-whole-heck-of-a lot-more-than-I-should-have-spent) dollars, Miss.” I exhale slowly, and hand over the moolah, then brace myself for the mad dash ahead. GO, GO, GO…making it to the red wagon in record time, we go!

At home I decide to run my perishables in first, then come back for the other groceries, like usual. SLAM! Round one dash…go go go! I charge to my front door, and reach for my keys….my keys….my…KEYS?!?!?!?! As the rain continues to pound down mercilessly on my head, I realize I have locked myself out of BOTH my house AND my car….all in one foul swoop. And the prize goes to….YEAH… * Huzzah *~

My shoulders slump, I want to scream…I want to hit something…I feel angry…I want to shout some scrabble up in here! (four letter words, with triple word scores, ya’ll!) I clench my fists…this bedraggled , traumatized Tinkerbell…and open my mouth to release my fury to this d**ned deluge…EEEEEYYYYYAAAAHAHAHA…HAHA….HAHA…HAHA….HA...

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ha. Ha.

Ha.

As my shoulders begin to shake…my whole body reeling with the release of it all…I realize I am laughing. Not quite hysterically…yes, perhaps a small bit scary (for the neighbors at least)…but no…this was therapy.

I raised my face to the (now gently kissing) silvery drops of liquid laughter…and unleashed all the pent up everything…

And on this third day, I, too, am risen again~

Beat Down, Blocked, and Bouyed...all in the Course Of A Day~

2011-01-10T09:45:00.007-10:00

It was a rough day. One of those days when you feel like you are floundering. Not quite drowning, yet…but more like paddling endlessly…flailing arms…kicking feet…fruitlessly afloat (barely)….floundering.

Woke up just like any other normal day…in Paradise, nonetheless…and was just peachy. Got in my car…and set out. Had myself a little gameplan for a simple Sunday, and off I went.

Halfway down the road, that cellphone (oh yes, that cell phone) buzzes. Bzzzzz….Bzzzz…Bzzzzz. I thought of letting it go to voicemail (as any of you who call me will I am sure be completely shocked by…) but at the last second, snatched it up to find out what was going on in the world. The faceless, bodyless, voice informed me of an optional change of plans for my day…and boy did it sound great! Now I had a dilemma. I, being a creature of (beloved) habit, relish my routine. I mean really, really love the constancy of cyclical days and a peaceful, predictability. Yes, yes I do.

But this opportunity seemed too good to pass up, so I rearranged my day around it. Much of the morning was spent in anticipation of the event (which was set to occur in the afternoon). I was practically abuzz with excitement. I drove to the complete other side of the island, looking forward to the outing. I got there a bit early and waited…and waited….and waited. I tried to busy myself with reading my book. * It was so hot * Then I decided to write a blog post * I didn’t have my computer in my car, would you believe it? * And then I grasped for straws as I resorted to ye olde standby: taking a nap on the beach *Dang. Did I mention it was hot today *….

After almost two hours of this, and still waiting to hear from my rendezvous arranger, I was “over it” (as I often seem to be lately…moody as a cheap ring from an 80’s bubble gum machine). My patience was wearing thin (my shoes would have been too, from the pacing to and fro, had I been wearing any). My skin was growing red (my face was growing red…irish temper, you know). My eyelids were getting heavy (alongside my heart)….and I was (you guessed it)…over it~

Embracing the sneaky suspicion that I had been either completely forgotten, or worse, forsaken, I turned the key in the ignition, put the pedal to the floor, and got the heck out of there. My house was calling. My heart was in need of the healing balm of home…the gentle sway of my peacechair, the familiar beats of my Itunes flowing, and (most importantly) the door firmly closed against the world and all the drama, drain, and hurt that could possibly touch me “out here”. The entire drive home I was consoling myself that this is the comfort I would find within those four walls, and that in this…I would make it through this day intact.

But before I could get to that door, in order to close this mean, scary world out…I had to step over a package….on my porch…addressed to me…and it was BIG. I literally had to pick it up, and physically move it aside just to make it into my house. I opened it…and unleashed the no-holds-barred fury of love. It assaulted my every sense: Straight slapped me in the face with familiar friendship; Filled my nostrils with the scent of solidarity and support; thrilled my eardrums with the melody of mothers’ love (biological and otherwise); renewed my vision with images of light and laughter; and as I devoured it all…its taste was sweeter on my lips than any honey imaginable.

---------------------

Yep. It was a sh**ty day (sorry, it just was). All I wanted to do was get home and shut out the world..lick my wounds…and start again tomorrow. God, in His abundant mercy, grace (and sense of humor, perhaps?) made this impossible for me to do…without first going through (literally and figuratively) an obstacle course of goodness…*trumped again by the Big Guy, it would appear*….but not complaining~

Giving Up~

2011-01-09T19:55:00.004-10:00

I am tired today,

And I am quitting:

-Giving up to give up

-Giving way to the giving way

-Yielding—to the right of way—to today.

May I be strong enough…one day…this day…today:

To distinguish, then relinquish…lies

Extinguish anguish---stop the ambush

Release reality….free fantasy….restore the refugee

Promote possibility.

Go gypsy~

Flow me.

Breathe.

From dark-to-dawn, may daybreak…

then sunrise-to-sunset…reset…be met…and let……let…

go~

GO~

Awaken an aurora….rise with a vision…pen some rhyming rendition…

One pen shouting, ink screaming, soul shrieking, literary libation…

Drink it in…liberation.

Swallow it whole…salvation.

Let’s have a toast… “To emancipation”~

* Tink *

Mood Lighting~

2010-12-29T13:37:00.006-10:00

This morning, a friend of mine called and set me on an errand of sorts. She is redecorating her home on the mainland, and had wanted my opinions on some things. My mission, should I choose to accept it, was to go (cell phone in hand) to the online site of the company she was ordering through, and walk through the offerings with her, as her sounding board of sorts. I thought this sounded kind of fun, so I agreed. We set up a time and coordinated. I logged on, and was set to surf the net, looking for the perfect fit for her and her new home.

By the end of the conversation she was practically begging to get off of the phone—as I, of course, had wandered from the actual task of shopping, into a different world of thought/pondering tangent (as I am prone to do)—getting sidetracked by psychology and semantics as I journeyed further into the land of lights and fixtures and shades, dimmers and timers. For my credit, I started off at every site fully focused on the practical task of finding the right colors, the right “feel,” the perfect piece(s) for my friend’s declared specifications. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking how much this related to life…this whole lighting thing.

As I clicked through the pictures of the track lighting, I marveled at how simply the strategic location of bright lights could instantly highlight a desired point of focus in a room, yet without being jarring or having it feel institutional. This, I was told, was a most ideal setting for displaying a specific work of art, or other desired points of interest, without being too ostentatious. Then there were the halogen lamps…I’d always liked these. They were amazingly able to give off an immense amount of light, but because they focused the rays upward rather than downward, it never felt like “too much” or glaring…perhaps because the majority of the light and heat were not pointed directly at the individual seeking illumination.

Then there were the lights that had shades on them. Some coverings were hideous in color…bright and brash—and *gasp * tacky to the tee. There were tassels, beads, designs, and (I mean it) even….feathered shades. Some shades were almost see- through in their thinness and translucent nature—others were so opaque that the light was almost completely swallowed up in the bowels of their blocking hues.

There were timers on the really modern lights that they were selling. You could apparently program them to shine brightly for a certain amount of time before having them either dim gradually, or shut off completely at a designated hour. The dimmers could be tuned to fade according to the needs and tastes of each owner---running the gamut from bright and brilliant—boldly filling the room— to the opposite extreme of leaving a somber and mellow ambience; barely lit and neutral toned.

----

I listened patiently as my friend shared her * lengthy * thoughts on each of the options. We weighed together the pros and cons connected with the purchase of every item. As the conversation progressed, I realized * pragmatist that I often am * that she had no idea (or concern, apparently) for the different costs of these items. Rather, our entire conversation and deliberations had completely revolved around how the lights/ lighting made her feel. It was as if money was of no importance in comparison to the need for a “perfect fit” (as she called it). The “perfect fit” for what she wanted to welcome her home everyday…the “perfect fit” for what she needed to feel at peace and rest sitting beneath, and surrounding her—day in and day out. I understood this “perfect fit” of which she spoke.

----

I often pray that I will go throughout my day and be a reflection of “light and joy” to people with whom I come into contact. This day has made me revisit that prayer over and over in my head. Yes, I very much do still want this….but now I want to be more specific in that prayer. What kind of light…not the glaring kind….that in-your-face-give-you-a-migraine-flourescent light (no, thank you). Instead, I want to be a sweet, soothing light, yet not so dim that it lulls people to sleep, or that they cannot find their way around to get anything accomplished—rather I want to be the light that is bright enough to allow them to see their world clearly--beautifully (painting their surroundings in the best likeness possible—highlighting the happy colors, the neutral soothing tones, and the shades that will give them hope—and set them at ease—surround them in peace).

I am still a work in progress….but now I have a more specific goal in mind, and prayer in heart. As I go about my day(s)...what kind of light do I want to be? What kind of light am I right now?

Home for the Holidays~

2010-12-26T10:37:00.004-10:00

Holidays.

The holiday season has always been a bit emotional for me. I am not sure if it is more the break in my normal routine, the sometimes hectic busyness of a full month’s worth of parties/ friends/ gatherings/ family, the build up of anticipation of that December 25^th day, travel and traffic, stampedes at the local shopping mall, or the inevitable fact that someone (at least one) that I love will most likely not make it home for the holidays.

This year, that “someone”—was me.

Not only did I not make it home for the holidays, but I was spending my December in a tropical setting…with friggin’ palm trees, not pines…surrounded by swimsuits versus snow. Not exactly the climate for all the Christmas spirit to easily ooze from every picturesque pore. Do not get me wrong, I will never complain about being able to swim in the ocean, or wear a sundress with barefeet in the middle of winter, but there is something you miss (that feels almost out of body experience) when those Christmas carols begin to play over the radio of your car, as the AC is cranked full blast.

The entire month, once I embraced the fact that getting back to my family in NC was entirely out of the question, I focused on not focusing on the dreaded December 25^th. ( I had looked several times at the ticket prices skyrocketing before my very eyes as the inevitable day approached….telling myself * maybe * I would just smoke the Visa and surprise my sisters and little elven nieces.) However, I finally came to the conclusion that ‘smoking’ was the understatement of the year…at these prices, ‘Incineration’ was more like it. * Sigh *

So. Now. What?

My boyfriend, I could tell, was already worrying…although he is not by nature a worrying type at all, I know him well enough by now to see the telltale signs of unease that rarely registers in his physique. The furrowed brow, the watchful eye from afar (taking me in—measuring if and when a call to the local mental institution will be necessary, perhaps?), the ready and open arms—poised for the plethora of hugs that were no doubt needed (and mercifully supplied) as the season slowly slinked onward. Growing up in the islands, he had never really had the wintry wonderland (nor the Southern sweetness of home and over the top holiday hutzpah) Christmas experience in order to go through the withdrawal symptoms that I seemed to be suffering from. But I could tell he sympathized, albeit in a “Oh-my- gosh,-WTF-is-WRONG-with-her-and-is-she-gonna-snap-out-of-it-soon?!?!?” kind of a way.

The beautiful man even got to the point where he offered to send me home himself…a true gift and sacrifice…although the incineration of his plasticware was no more appealing to me either. Nope…it was decided we would just make the best of it…but how?

If any of you know me, you know I am one stubborn, hard-headed little sassafras (and proud of it!). So I figured all I needed to do, was decide and determine to be happy this holiday. That worked for, oh, I dunno—a day? And then that d**n radio dial would land on a Christmas carol that would knock me (and all of my self-assured optimism) flat on my a**! Back to square one…I realized I needed an entirely new and different plan of attack…and yes, it really was that way in my mind…a battle for my sanity---and to save Christmas from the depression monster, by gosh!

Plan B:

· I LET GO: of traditions, of memories I was clinging to—trying to recapture.

· I RELEASED: the frustration of feeling “stuck here” (in Paradise, no doubt---geez, andy beth)

· I GOT OVER: my expectations of how this Christmas thing “should be”—and over MYSELF.

· I DETERMINED: to embrace all that is GOOD, HERE AND NOW.

-----------

It is December 26^th. And, miraculously, I was able to get home to spend yesterday with family. And no, it was not in NC…it was a house filled with surfers and pixies…seekers and so(ul)journers just like me…sisters and brothers who have chosen one another willingly…and for this reason, are connected in a deep and inexplicable bond---we CHOSE one another. We, living on this island out in the middle of the Pacific, far away from all we know as home and the comforts connected with it, seem to have realized that we need one another— and we cling to each other—lift one another up—rescue one another daily—a cohesive collection of crazy beach bums who have built a makeshift life raft in the midst of this ocean.

I swam in the sea. I built a SANDman. I wore my favorite sundress, and painted my bare toes a glittering red and gold. Christmas met me here and now….at home.

Mosiac of Myself

2010-12-21T09:35:00.008-10:00

28 years I have had.

Almost three decades down--bending over this jigsaw puzzle of my life. Pieces strewn about—their jagged edges at times maddening. Every once in awhile, the edges connect—gliding into one another with effortless cohesion. Same shadings, matching colors, the contoured lines blending into the background as the separating seams all but disappear.

Looking back, it has been these times that were such a source of consolation to me. Comforting somehow, to think and feel life “fitting,”—to know I was learning and applying such skill at being able to neatly and beautifully find the perfect pieces that correspond to one another—all the while in my mind seeing the amazing masterpiece of art that would result in the end—if only I could keep honing my skills…finding the right pieces—to complete the design~

I have always wondered what exactly the complete puzzle would look like. When I was very young, the pieces were entirely pastel…a beachscape is what I childishly assumed would result…I could imagine the soft blues spreading out to connect with one another, sweetly residing above the soft waves of seafoam green lapping against an earth-toned shore. The pale yellows I saw peeking around the edges of the puzzle pieces could only mean sunshine—and lots of it—but never glaring or too bright. Yes, I could see the puzzle of my life being completed, and as such, being worthy of any Boca Raton retirement community art collection bar none…so soothing and sterile—light and serene it was.

But as I have grown, something astounding has occurred. MORE puzzle pieces have appeared among the table I sit at. As I spread them out, I sense fear and confusion welling up within me—anger and frustration—fast on its heels. I see the colors spread out before me among the previous soothing blues and greens. Red…bright and vibrant—jarring my mind as I try to wrap my thoughts around it. What business can red have on my beach? A brilliant purple presents itself along the edges of the ledge, and I began to reel. Lavender possibly, but this is a shrill, shockingly loud hue of hyacinth. The brightness does not blend! An onslaught of abstract pieces begin to reveal themselves….so many of them. And the edges—like daggers—sharp and fierce—the seams screaming—unwilling to be silenced.

In direct contrast, a new color crashes in. Brown and boring…shapeless slabs, edges so smooth that I fear it will be difficult to differentiate one from the other…making the puzzle almost impossible to decipher.

My jigsaw puzzle is ruined. I gasp as the fit of panic rises within me…I cannot make this work. My masterpiece is ruined. The sweet, serene beachscape ebbs away. I am left with a hodgepodge of clashing colors and crude, unpolished shapeless shards.

I cannot make sense of it all. I am angry at God for giving me these new ugly pieces to deal with—they do not fit in the beautiful design…they are ruining the art. Overwhelmed in fear and frustration, I fling the pieces to the floor—pushing away from the table—as far away as I can get from the disorganized disaster He has thrust upon me. I flee the room. I cannot bear to look any longer.

--------

I have since returned—vowing to pick up the pieces and salvage whatever it is that I can…

has it been hours? Days? Years? I cannot say…all I know is….I was so wrong. I am no jigsaw at all…never was I intended to be...

As the door opens, and the light floods onto the scene of my destruction, I finally see---the ruined “Jigsaw puzzle”—the hideous failure I had been blinded by…my previous shame and confusion…myself...illuminated~

Extreme Makeover: Today's Guest-- Encouragement~

2010-11-08T16:06:00.009-10:00

I’ve often been told I am an encouraging person. I am always so happy to hear it. I love to think that something—anything that I have said or done could have helped someone I love to feel better about themselves, feel stronger, feel more loved, or even just ease their days a bit—help them get through whatever they are going through at the moment. In fact, I have always felt that the role of encourager is one of (if not the) highest callings in this life.

I have changed my mind.

This past week I was on the phone with a very good friend, a friend who has become almost a mentor of sorts, a big brother who I thank God for daily. This friend was asking me about my life, and I was sharing with him about what had been going on—my hopes—my dreams—my goals—my prayer requests. He wasted not one breath before affirming to me verbally that “You can do it, AB!” and “All of these goals are realistic” and “You have a gift, and I know God has an amazing purpose for your life!”

I felt immediately encouraged. And I thought, “I can get through this day, because God has sent my friend with words to sustain me and keep me going one more day.” Just as I was thanking God for this encouragement and sustenance, I noticed that my friend was not finished. He went on to actually sit down with me and talk through exactly how I was going to take the first step(s) to actively move towards accomplishing all of my heart’s dreams and hopes and goals.

He prayed with me right there, on the phone…yes, actually prayed—not just let me know he was going to pray for me—he prayed with me right then and there. We made a list—we walked through how to make a website (step by maddening step). We worked out my budget. We made phonecalls. We signed me up for a yoga class and healing workshop to quiet my heart and mind. We made small changes in my diet (I feel better already). We made progress.

As I think of this friend, every time I remember him in thanks and praise to God—I try to pinpoint what it is about him that is such a gift. Why I always cannot wait to talk to him. Why I value him as I do. Why I long to seek time with him, and feel such a lightening and hopefulness when I leave him. Today, I figured it out.

He does not encourage me in my life. He empowers me.

He does not tell me nice things, to help me feel better so I can make it through the day. He physically takes my hand, pulls me up on my feet and walks with me.

This new way of seeing my friend challenges me in my friendships. I wonder back now, when a friend has shared with me their biggest fears, or discouragements, or even prayer requests—have I offered them some flowery sounding platitude or scripture verse? (To be sure, scripture is powerful and a gift to us all)…but next time, and from now on….I want to not worry as much about making them feel so good about themselves by what I say, so that they can survive that day—but rather take their hand, walk with them (make a darn list), and have them feel good about themselves because they had the tools and power to create their day.

Kenophobia...empty spaces, blank pages~

2010-11-06T21:40:00.005-10:00

Wastebasket overflowing,

Reruns of that Shamwow guy *and every other 2am infomercial * on loop,

Inkwell’s full belly,

Temper tantrums flare

Empty pages,

Redrafting-->rambling-->rut-->repeat.

Silence, screaming

Banging forehead, *table * * wall *

Loose Ponytail, sweatpants, Wrigley’s spearmint, that millionth cup of coffee,

Optimism out the window

Clustering’s a crock!

Kenophobia kicking in…

Wabi sabi~

2010-11-05T10:00:00.005-10:00

I have two mothers. A biological mother, and a spiritual mother (although there are no real words to do her justice). Birthing me into this world, and into the woman I am daily becoming, I thank God for you both.

My spiritual mother mentors. She teaches me, chides me, frustrates the snot out of me…and relays truth to me—in unexpected times and avenues—and always for this (usually/ admittedly most of the time long after the * revelation times *) I am profoundly grateful.

One such truth seed was planted in my heart and mind by her with the introduction to the concept of “wabi sabi.” It was when I was living with her on her farm, and I was seeking the peace and tranquility and life that her home seemed to exude from its very core—covering every inch of the dwelling—from the rooftop to the rugs.

She knew what I was seeking *she always has, I believe * was wabi sabi—to be embraced, understood, acknowledged—and truly lived~

“Pared down to its barest essence, wabi-sabi is the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in nature, of accepting the natural cycle of growth, decay, and death. It's simple, slow, and uncluttered-and it reveres authenticity above all.”

Barest essence.

Finding Beauty in Imperfection.

Accepting Life (and Death) in its Natural State.

Simple.

Slow.

Uncluttered.

And, my favorite…wait for it….authenticity above all.

After hearing just this concept from her, I became insatiable in my research--of what I now see as a salvation of sorts in my life. Wabi sabi exists everywhere, in everything, if we can only cultivate it—or moreso—allow it to exist and embrace it--as it is daily right in front of our very eyes…right there—hidden beneath all of our clutter, our drama—our masochistic quest for unbending perfection.

Wabi sabi is even known in the art and interior design world…it is minimalist. It strips away the clutter, the garish colors and austentatious, gaudy accoutrements—all that is unnecessary—leaving only a stark and striking, austere beauty.

I see wabi sabi much as a challenge (to me I am saying…take what you will) to dare to take off the delusional/ life stealing/ grass is always greener/ covetous of others/ rose-colored glasses…and gaze upon this world…the world in which I now live…in all its sepia toned splendor…and begin to see the radiance--of simple shadings--shadings that only light and dark provide. Yes, the light and the dark. The shadows and coal black lines casting a poignant contrast to the radiance of the alabaster angles…making up this masterpiece of balanced “be-ing.”

Wabi sabi…applauding that quiet, undeclared beauty and grace…silently, patiently, waiting to be unearthed from beneath the “other”—I praise life that you exist…and that in the light and perspective of you—even I, am breathtaking~

Let Em' Know~

2010-11-04T13:57:00.005-10:00

This past week the islands where I live have mourned the loss of one of their own. A world champion surfer, Andy Irons, unexpectedly passed away. He left a young, beautiful widow and a unborn baby boy on this earth…too soon.

As I watched the local news, and made my way throughout the community these last few days, it has been touching. An outpouring of love, aloha, respect and compassion has saturated the surf community. From fellow champions and contenders sharing their favorite memory, to younger teens attesting to the fact that Andy was many of their main inspirations to begin their love affair with the water and waves—all speak of Andy with such warmth and care.

I hope he knew how much he was loved while he actually lived on this earth. I wonder if these same people shared that love, warmth and care then?

I ask myself who in my life do I love and care for? Who makes my life bright and beautiful? And who do I not want to wait until it is too late to let them know….NOW?

Suns and Beaches....and Democracy~

2010-11-02T22:22:00.006-10:00

Sign reads: “Yes We Can!”

Tho’ the man in front of “we”

Slightly disagrees…

Long line—and I wait

Audience to hems and haws

man’s face getting red

his volume rises

neck veins strain—it ain’t pretty

this rocking the vote

speaking of rocking-

he must own a boat--somewhere

maybe north? Must be!

Why yes….Nan-tucket…

He shouts only of this place…

its suns and beaches….

Line dies down—my turn

Nan-tucket! Suns and beaches!

It all becomes clear

Whining, complaining

When there are boats to be sailed!

free suns and beaches~

Sign reads: “Yes We Can”

Thank God “we” begins with me.

oh democracy…

Baby's Got a Brand New "Do"~

2010-11-01T16:51:00.010-10:00

I was a nanny for just about the cutest little girl in the world a few years ago. This child has spunk. She is sassy, and stubborn, and deliciously full of sweetness AND spice. (And the ‘and’ is the oh so very important part!)

It is always interesting to me to listen to adults’ reactions, or to observe their behavior upon encountering and (ahem) “conversing” with children. The words “sweet,” “adorable,” “angel,” “princess,” and “beautiful” always seem to replay like they were rotating around a magical Disney DJ’s turntable….and all is happy songs filled with soothing piccolo trills and melodious harpsichord harmonies…* tra- la- la* (cue cherubic smile and floating on air parents here_____)….and as I think of this familiar scene and cycle….(I can already feel the cavities from sugar shock practically sucking the enamel from my soul…er…teeth)…sweetness overload. Enter the sudden scratch on the vinyl--*EEEEK! * --speed it up and make it funky—get down, get down! And some do…thank God.

Yes, praise be to the children that introduce some sassafras! I applaud your passion-filled, devil-may-care, “deviant” spirits! Your spontaneity and unpredictable eruptions of emotionally driven exploits make me feel just a little less old and crusty. Passionate little pixies, I am beholden to you for the blessings that you are to this soul—you bring refreshment to a fat and arid world of too much sweetness—I long to drown myself in the waters of your whimsical ways (We, of course, will jump off the deep end...doing a tuck and roll into a cannonball upon entrance, shan’t we?) —I can already see the look on the "dry ones'" doused faces…would the caption read: shock….exasperation…envy?)

This week a child got a new hairdo. The closest way I can possibly describe this “do” (or what her parents might very well call a “don’t”?) is what you might get if Dog the Bounty Hunter miraculously procreated with Billy Ray Cyrus-- and they birthed a little girl who apparently would enjoy both a party and business if asked….

This haircut was the impulsive act of my little charge I previously mentioned. Her father just recently posted pictures with the single caption: “No repentance!”..... And there was none! Ha! That little spunky sprite stares straight into the camera and owns it….owns that hideous haircut—so shocking that I cannot look away…I am taken aback….mesmerized…drawn to…the courage. The aliveness I feel when I look at the action she took…snip, snip, snip….cutting away at the ties that bind---the cares and worry of what people might think.. All she knew is that she felt the need for a haircut…it seemed simpler to just do it herself…and she did. Snip, snip, snip…she cut because she could, and because she wanted to…and because she wasn’t afraid.

When I looked at those pictures, two things happened:

First: I promptly scanned and copied them all (in order to add to the plethora of paraphernalia I will most assuredly have the great pleasure of busting out at her wedding reception one day)~

Second: I realized that little Liana had reminded me of a beautiful truth this day:

This was not just a haircut, this was a declaration of independence (from expectations), a peace treaty (with herself), and a pint-sized middle finger raised (to whoever looked at her funny that day--obviously not appreciating the brilliant artwork now adorning her crown--oh yeah)~

You go, little girl~

Putting Faces with Names~

2010-10-30T23:53:00.007-10:00

As I read the passages tonight, I see myself in many faces, hear myself answering to their names:

-I am Mary Magdalene, whoring myself out for a pittance, not realizing the inheritance I already possess.

-I am Saul, with my misguided, murderous intent—blinded while traveling down a road destined for destruction.

-I am Samson, weakened by human (and misplaced) love—made frail at the hands of the one I (foolishly) trusted the most.

-I am Pilot, my cowardice is costly, its ripple effect I have only begun to discern.

-I am Peter. I run when I should walk—speak when I shouldn’t talk---my fits of passion are not accepted kindly, as peace and patience are words of the day.

-I am Judas Iscariot, trusted steward—only to turn and betray—greed getting the better of me—I now hang—my head in shame—my heart in sorrow—my body among the twisted branches.

-I am Barrabas, unworthy recipient of this second chance, escorted from my prison-- I stagger away from the gallows…free.

-I am Cain, my jealousy has killed many things…I walk alone in exile, the ground beneath me lies barren and fallow.

-I am David, not yet the king… small, lowly shepherd—I long to dance in the streets and sing—golden harps and waving arms.

-I am Delilah, sapping the strength of those I claim to love— I cut with words, with selfishness, with pride. they are weakened—and I am to blame.

-I am Absalom, overtaken with righteous anger—my sisters have been dishonored.

-I am Esau, my eyes short-sighted—my greedy, gluttonous mind bargains away my blessings.

-I am Jezebel, my idolatry has ripped me apart limb from limb—the hounds of heaven tearing at my amethyst cloak.

-I am Tamar, I have been dishonored—I have been broken and used. I am bitter—angry at injustice. I am seething—shamed—and saddened by what did not have to be—by this world that makes no sense.

-I am still Mary Magdalene…but now I have grown my hair---I have broken an alabaster box. I have knelt low, and I have raised high—my eyes—my song—my soul. I have been washing feet—been washing—been washed—clean.

~I am loved, I don't know why~

Leaving Home~

2010-10-30T19:18:00.006-10:00

Many of you already know I left Hawaii and came to North Carolina this week.

It was a full week.

I missed home—and reveled in home—embraced home—and drowned in home.

I sensed home—was overwhelmed with home—made peace with home. I hungered and was starved for home—and feasted on home. I gave thanks at home—sought truth at home. I found home—and lost myself in home.

I stepped on a plane and flew far—and found closeness. Fears were faced, and giants were defeated—leaving only shrinking shadows.

I left home for home…and reveled in the radiance of Autumnal air…it was cleared…and it was fresh.

One week passed…too short for comfort….too lengthy to remain unattached.

Yet, I step in this plane, leaving home for home…I arrive to bask in the warmth of sun’s shining…knowing it will rise again each morning from this day forward—heralding the newness~

And I will look around me and give thanks for my home.

And I will close my eyes, set off across this ocean, and remember in praise (with prayers) my home.

Allowance(s)~

2010-10-08T15:55:00.010-10:00

Anybody remember allowances from growing up? I remember my friends having them...a certain amount of money *usually pretty modest* that their parents would allocate to them each week. Usually it involved an exchange of the green in return for domestic chores, or helping out in a number of ways. My friends would mostly use their funds for going to the movies, or clothes, or (once we hit middle school) “hot” dates ;) And man, those bowling alleys and arcades were off the hook! We were so cool...swingin' hipsters, I tell you~

As for me, I do not remember an allowance. I do recall regarding the concept of them as being a bit foreign. Even the name, "allowance" carries such a loaded and strange connotation to it. In my home, my sisters and I were simply expected to help around the house as members of the family. The thought of getting otherwise rewarded (besides a deeply felt "thank you!" from my amazing momasita) was equally as alien. If I wanted money for spending or something extra....(say...like perhaps meeting that smokin' boy at the mall and cruising around all TWO of the shops until our moms came to get us in the matching mini vans...around 9pm...* live it up!*) then I babysat, or found other odd jobs apart from regular washing of the dishes and keeping our family home clean. The funniest thing is that I don't remember being annoyed by this fact that I had no allowance. I felt it was not "owed" to me simply for helping my mom out around the house, and for being a contributing member of the family—pitching in wherever was needed.

Today I am thinking of adult allowance(s). I see many of them...but as adults we are no longer supplied by our parents, and it seems to be of a much different, and less tangible, genre of "green." As a (ahem) grown up, I feel I receive an allowance (of sorts) everyday...from the world. I see this presenting itself in various forms---as love, acceptance, encouragement, and affirmation, etc…

I also, at the ripe old age of 28, am looking at this allowance...of love, of acceptance, of encouragement, of affirmation...and beginning to ask myself...what is expected of me to earn such a sum this week? Is there a list someone could please post on the fridge? (You know, the kind with small checkboxes perhaps? Or a honeydew melon graphic on the top--sous smiley-faced green gourd attached?) No? Well that would be too simple and straightforward, then, wouldn’t it?

In our world, I wonder what the “acceptable” labor and toil required of me is/ would be….and I wonder if I secretly deep down feel the need to “earn” my allowance…or even worse, if I walk around with an attitude of being “owed” (and hence, demanding of the world) this allotment. Either attitude, I have a sneaking feeling, will get me a pittance (and a begrudging one at that).

So, I’ve a mind to do away with this whole allowance business! I believe it best if I follow the practice of my youth. I will have a deep awareness that (although most definitely worthy of provision and goodness) I am not “owed” anything by anyone. I will simply throw my full efforts into claiming my role as an integral and contributing (without reservation—or expectation) member of this non-biological brotherhood I satellite around daily. In turn, I will not feel this need to “earn” anything—for there will be no formal offering of payment.

It will be as before…my needs will be met…all that is required to sustain comes for those that are family…ohana…and who live, and move, and have their being as an integral piece of the whole. Seeking the “green” now takes on a whole new meaning:

G-rowth

R-efreshment

E-ncouragement

E-nrichment

N-ewness~

May we all have more than enough green to sustain us—never feeling owed—never having to earn—but rather stepping up, and serving up…as siblings~

Refresh~

2010-10-07T09:54:00.005-10:00

Lately I have been having a plethora of computer glitch issues. It’s so slow, or cuts out, or kicks me offline without notice. (Stephanie Tanner’s sentiments explain my feelings exactly: how rude, indeed~)

I have found in trying to troubleshoot with these problems, that if I simply hit the refresh button on the site….it fixes the issue, at least for a time. I have often wished there were a refresh (or let’s face it, even a delete) button in life… * for when the page we are on gets tired…or “freezes up,” …stagnant and still….NOTHING GOING….stalled. I’d simply hit that refresh…and there is a recharge, a rejuvenation…the page is cleared and we trusty little computers are freed and enabled to go on about our same business as before. Oh, sounds wonderful.

A techie friend of mine tried explaining to me in simple terms why computers freeze up like mine has been lately (I felt like I was living a “How To, for Dummies” book during said conference, but was grateful nonetheless for the better understanding gleaned). He shared with me that the computer gets tired, and if it has been going for too long a period of time without being “refreshed,” or even turned off and given a complete rest, it will begin to slow…sometimes even quitting and freezing up completely; unable to accomplish the sole purpose(s) that it was (and is) intended for.

My friend knowingly looked up at me, and gingerly took my laptop from my inexperienced (and impatiently taskmaster driving) hands. He shifted the mouse to hover over a small arrow, clicking just once. The icon spun slightly, and, just like that, the page was revived and humming again. All he had to do was help me to stop, find the right key, and allow my computer to be revived…somedays even to completely stop expecting it to work for me, and let it be at rest. No expectations…no demands.

No expectations.

No demands.

Just Rest.

And Refresh....

I want to be a human refresh button.

Activate~

2010-09-29T11:11:00.006-10:00

DEACTIVATION…

It all sounds so…final…*Bum, Bum, Bum!!!* So very “CIA” / espionage-esque…I dunno. But what I DO know, is that this special agent is overwhelmed, and is looking for the words to describe what she is feeling. Heck, she would even be happy to know what her real name is! All she knows lately is her calling card from this crazy online world where they speak in terms of “spyspeak”.…”That’s Miller…Andy Miller”…and I am shaken AND stirred as of late it seems. So, that would make me Agent 00something…but what?

As I glanced at the Facebook page, with the glaring option to “Deactivate” staring me down….another D-word came to mind. DRAMA. I’ve realized that, in the midst of this self-exploration (and * not so * quarter-life crisis season of life)…I have grown an appendage. I now have two “faces” in my life. One physical, which (apparently) can be read like a book (often causing embarrassment to no end, and not to mention making me a complete liability at the poker table!), and the other, an inanimate, glamorously glittering movie-star status mugg…a countenance I can best only describe as an “online airport” of sorts (people-watching to no end)…pun intended~

Now, I don’t know about you, but I was taught in grade school (mostly out in the schoolyard….during recess…from much bigger/ older children…by a soaking wet swirlie…a wedgie…a swift kick in the pants…or a pride-stinging slap) that being two-faced was NOT something desirable. Hence, my dilemma. What to do with this new limb?

Is it something that can only be survived by completely severing its presence? I tried this…and was left feeling legless…disconnected from my body…limping along. The “amputation” left me feeling as if I was lagging behind my peers. Worried that I would be disqualified from the race because I was not registered as an “official” runner…with a number on my back...or was that an official page? (I digress.)

I had to come away….and yes, it is extreme, this deactivation. But sometimes I find it necessary..because then it allows me to extremely delve into WHAT it was in the first place giving me the idea that I needed a break….WHAT was so overwhelming to me? With facebook, there are so many things I could pinpoint. Do not get me wrong…I find it neither evil nor good as an entity unto itself. It just “is.” Much of Facebook’s power, I am realizing, lies in what it becomes (or is allowed to become).

It can become the black hole…a vortex of swirling, mixed messages coming at us from all angles…offering many things, yet most of which come up empty. Since this is a blog with which I have promised to use myself as the main fodder…I will only speak for myself (no judgments or projections upon anyone but this 00something). What began to bother me most was that I found myself coming home each day, and the very first thing I checked was my page. I would rush to the notifications and the messages, the little child inside begging the question…*who loves me?* and *someone message me some small encouragement, telling me it is all going to be okay…assuring me that I am going to be okay!*

For one inanimate object (my little trusty laptop) to have so much power (real or created) is no longer acceptable to me. For me to be (either) validated—or completely deflated….based on the mere presence (or absence) of a tiny little red flag at the top of a blinking *bleepin’ * screen, is self-defeating and masochistic. I need to no longer run home asking the question: “Who loves me?” and "Will I be okay?" but rather carry around with me always the answer: I love me...and I am better than okay.

So, now for the hard part…working on that answer….everyday…more and more.

Activate.

Year of Jubilee~

2010-09-12T11:29:00.006-10:00

She is a simply complicated girl.

Fearless. Headstrong. Crown full of curls.

Gilded, golden, with violet hues

Timid, Fragile. This Maker’s muse.

Reigning, rule-ridden, o’er this dichotomy:

Soul’s royalty. Mind and Body’s peasantry.

Daily seeking guidance, this princess will be.

Neither black nor white…mais non, elle est gris~

Maintenant, as this little one sees and is seen.

The world wakens to life…thrives with green.

The newness, the wholeness, this birth’s beginning

Ushers forth such seasons of healing.

Woman-child…you are an intricate maze to decipher.

Breathtaking beauty traces your lines and letters.

What words shall you form, among this sea?

This ocean of life, your year of jubilee?

Say What~

2010-08-22T10:12:00.005-10:00

Just yesterday I got an opportunity to meet a friend in Maui, all expenses paid. * Ask me if I took the offer?* (Duh!) I packed my backpack, then proceeded to coax and cajole my battered bug along the Kamehameha Highway…heart excited and bent towards the promise of a fun-packed, carefree weekend getaway. I arrived and met my friend.

Memory lane was traversed….in actuality, it seems more like ‘skipping’ would describe our chosen state of mind/ mode of transportation into the path of our pasts. The short, inter-island flight literally (and figuratively) flew by as we caught one another up on present day shenanigans and what-nots.

I soon realized, however, that underneath this peaceful and poised exterior, there lied a pained and bleeding spirit. After several hours of conversation *and just as many (okay, if not more) glasses of wine,* I had heard the full story. I had gone over in minute detail the plot that pained my friend so much. I felt I had met them there, had practically memorized the sorrow-filled script that had brought them to the islands in search of an escape.

My initial instinct when I see friends in pain is to want to fix it…to make that pain stop…to obliterate any hardship and suffering from their entire sphere of being. Yet I remembered something that a friend had shared with me in my past emotional purgatories. I remember I was in the middle of a breakdown * tears, Kleenex, runny nose, asthmatic wheezing, blithering…(you get the picture)*. I mean, I was really going at it, letting myself ‘speak truth’, allowing free reign to fully ‘FEEL these feelings’ and giving myself permission to ‘release them’ * oh, with gusto! * As I looked up, naively expectant of being greeted with sighs of sympathy, a heart melted, and a compassionate countenance, I was instead met with a fixed, expressionless stare (straight through the core of me did her eyes slice,) and a bold, monotone: “Well, that does suck Andy…SO NOW WHAT?”

As this flashback reverberated in my brain, the remembrance of its healing (albeit shocking) quality (and my reluctant acceptance of this reality of responsibility to move towards positive action) bolstered me towards my own brash move…

I repeated this same question to my friend. The scene played out in response was eerily familiar. I received the same shocked silence....followed by that momentary mulling of the mind (I imagined a spout of steam tufting through earlobes as I waited)…the sharp intake of breath (I believe as the pain of hearing hard truth is processed and compartmentalized)…the exhale of realization/ resignation/ acceptance of the reality that is…and then…then… the eyes raised to meet my gaze (as if my own mirror). To meet me here (wherever “here” is)…to look that daunting question square in the eye:

So.

Now.

What?

We don’t usually know right away. I sure as hell don’t have the answers…but I do know that there is always room for this question…with every breath…in every moment…a challenge for growth, a spur towards change… a catalyst championing forward motion.

I head home today, back to the life I love. I am happy and hopeful…yet have a newfound awareness….

I am responsible.

I go now...the next what awaits~

Meet Me In The Morning~

2010-08-20T19:03:00.006-10:00

Early morning. I have spent many days like this lately…waking as the world sleeps, fumbling for my coffee cup to go, sleepily slurping my liquid speed, while racing down the dark, deserted road in order to meet my date. I like to get there first…so I can be waiting as he arrives. It is in those quiet moments…the still, silent seconds spent just before I see his face, that are priceless to me. The anticipation never ceases to bring the butterflies to my belly (they are flying high with the expectant joy of spending time with him too it seems).

The awareness that he is coming to meet me, reduces me to that giddy schoolgirl, (you know her)…the one standing on the side of that gymnasium wall at the school dance…giggling uncontrollably and praying under her breath for him to ask her to come 'cut the rug.' *And he does…oh, how he always does *~

We have a standing engagement, he and I. He has never missed, not even once. I, however, (much to my shame) have often (and still do) stand him up. Usually it is because I get lazy and would rather sleep in. Or, other days, I just promise myself I will make it to see him tomorrow, and that this somehow will suffice…that this will be enough for me. Any way you look at it, I am not there because I take him for granted. I forget what he does for me...who he is to me...how he makes everything better without saying a word somehow.

Yet, despite my neglect, he remains patient and forgiving...faithful even. This loyalty, and lack of all bitterness, is probably supported by the fact that he knows without a doubt that if I were to ever abandon our morning trysts, there is a constant stream of women around at any given time that flock to him, admiring his beauty and feeling privileged just to be in his presence. (I believe in some cultures he would even be considered a god of sorts, I tell you!)

Women fall at his feet (men too, even). I have actually even seen one woman saying prayers to him. People stop to take his picture…he always smiles kindly. Any angle is his best side, don’t you know? He shines with divine goodness. The sweetness of his countenance radiates and touches all. Healing to the heart, any would be blessed to spend even a moment with him. I am such a woman... Most Blessed. Every day.

So, yes, this morning, I showed up. I intentioned to do so. I set that d**ned alarm clock (only hit snooze twice!) I dragged myself out of that warm, cozy purple puff of heaven (also known as the “Purple Cloud”) I said a prayer (more for the other people I would pass on the roads BEFORE the caffeine had time to pulse its perky power through my veins).…and I made it just in time.

I watched as he playfully peeked his nose around the corner…granting me with only small glances at first (he always was such a delightful tease). I remained patient….happy just that he was there with me. Hopeful that he would be able to stay for the entire day…just to let me bask in his presence. He came closer…so tall…towered above me and smiled down. That grin…glowed. I lifted my chin, closed my eyes, and willed everything on earth to silence. This morning I am selfish. I will not share. He cradles my upturned face gently. Tenderly kissed like I have never been before, I find myself at peace in his presence.

My sanctuary.

My sun.

Changing Room~

2010-07-17T22:53:00.005-10:00

It has been one month now since I have returned home from what most have dubbed my “journey round the world”. It is an eerie feeling to return home after being gone…to purpose oneself towards reassimilation---towards reintegration into what is actually YOUR world. It feels strange. It feels surreal. And (of course, in any transitional process I seem to encounter of late) it feels SCARY.

I find myself pushing; rushing towards an idealistic return of yesterday’s sentiments, cherished friendships, and familiar feelings—when in reality, I wonder if I mightn’t just relax and receive a welcoming today? Yes, I know, I think too much….and I might also * perhaps * analyze things to death, or at least until there is no outwardly visible semblance of breath left within my imagination’s mind *it having been running wild all day most likely *. However, with thought comes contemplation….and, hopefully, such contemplation creates change.

Change. I shudder at the mere word. Shivers run down my spine at the thought of the unkown arriving at my doorstep—uninvited—unannounced—and most assuredly unfamiliar to my acquaintance. Most of my life, this is how I have viewed change. A scary, unwelcome visitor crashing in (uninvited I might add) upon my peaceful, domestic bliss—disrupting my everyday routine—and in doing so, rocking my little boat as it was merrily rowing along life’s (predictable) dreaminess.

Since I have been home, and have found it to be (although not necessarily tangibly changed) different than what I had maybe expected to see, feel, and even “be”—I am attempting to approach this whole idea of change with (if not a warm, fuzzy welcome) at least a reception not including a necklace of garlic, or a silver crucifix.

I came home early. I had had enough of world traveling and foreign seeking. It is good to be home. I do not desire to be anywhere else in the world but here. Yet, in my heart, there is something I cannot quite place. A feeling. Not regret, no, definitely not that. Not quite resignation (for I am too happy to be here for that description to hold true).

Restlessness? Ah, yes. That must be it. Restless with home? No. Restless with myself? My life? My circumstances? –A startling, first-time-ever answer of “NOPE!” shocks even me to utter—but no. I know it to be a restlessness WITHIN the change. DURING the change. Minutes, to days, to weeks, to one month now….of transition. Today, as each day before, I am pursuing the peace within the process.

Most days, like today, this peace finds me--holds my shaking hands, and quiets my quivering heart.

Other days, it seems to shun me, and I am left feeling cold, unsteady and unsure.

Every day, I know I will be a part of this process whether I like it or not…so today (as I pray each day to come) I choose to engage…to face forward…to stand rather than cower…and to trust…understanding as I do now, that peace is not always palpable~

Enough~

2010-06-15T20:38:00.004-10:00

One Girl. Nine destinations. Five countries. Fourteen Flights. Eleven hotels. Six passport stamps. One camera. Twelve photo albums. Six new brothers. Four reunions. Two care packages. One backpack. Two pairs of running shoes. Three marriage proposals (yes…really). Thirty swims across a sea. At least nine meltdowns (that’s one per destination for all you math wizzes out there…) Countless boxes of tissues (only slightly fewer fetal positions crouched in a corner). A smattering of fist bumps and random hi-fives. Four distinct happy dance occasions (or at least all you’ll ever know about!) =====è One woman.

One woman. Two perspectives regarding life’s path:

1) Go, go go!....Out…Beyond…Seek ...Reach…Search...the unknown. Revel in the independence and freedom offered by this amazing opportunity. Grow, Learn. Fear. Conquer. Overcome. Persist…..Become.

2) Stop, Stop, Stop! Be still…Look. Listen. Reflect. Recognize. Remember. Appreciate. Embrace…the known.

Two choices.

Ultimately, I choose both. Presently (tangibly) I choose “HOME” ~

I look around me and see such goodness. Blessing. Abundance…and I hear whispers of: enough.

[I have had] Enough [I have seen] Enough [ It is] Enough [I am]…

Bonjour~

2010-06-04T04:59:00.004-10:00

For the past two months (and with two and a half months left to go), I have been on the trip of a lifetime…quite possibly the trip of several lifetimes. I have visited famous monuments, had my eyes opened by ancient places, and been humbled by the majesty of architectural and historical masterpieces.

Barcelona housed Gaudi’s creative genius, the bustling boardwalk of the Barcoloneta, Las Ramblas with its quirky talents and throng of tourists, and a breathtaking cathedral beyond compare. Istanbul offered the glory of the Hagia Sophia, the blessing of the sacred Blue Mosque, and the overwhelming sensory overload of the Grand Bazaar. Upon arrival to each city, I never wasted one moment before I was out the door in search of these awe-inspiring places that I had been hearing about (and dreaming of) since childhood. So, naturally I get to Paris and I follow the same pattern, right? Well, * not exactly *…

I have been in Paris a total of one full day thus far. One single day filled with what I call “little sweet nothings.” --Rambling walks with no particular destination in mind; Naked wrists with no schedule or agenda for which to "dress." Piping hot morning coffee cups, left to cool (in lieu of conversation and communion) to lukewarm liquids. Half-eaten pastries (the first portion being so sublimely satisfying, it rendered the second irrelevant). A "peasant's picnic" in the park –a simple feast consisting of fresh produce from the curb market and mouth-watering fromagerie brie spread on what could only be the closest thing to manna from heaven found on this side of the clouds…the French baguette. Morning runs, soaking up the stillness of a sleeping city. Nights on fire, lit with a glow that only shining, joyous people (not lanterns) can emit. Sidewalks littered with cafes, peppered with patrons watching passersby…every once in awhile you will hear a friendly “Bonjour” offered between neighbors, or catch a snippet of a shared smile among strangers. “Bonjour,” meaning literally “Good Day” in French…* and it was. *

Thankfulness in Every Language~

2010-05-29T07:36:00.009-10:00

Temiz I come away from your presence cleansed; to you who have forged the path of purity, and graciously bid me walk alongside...*I thank you*~

Emin I rest in your presence without reserve; to you who have welcomed me into the peace and safety of your sanctuary...*I thank you*~

Sade I shed the weight that has long been a burden; to you who have shown me the freedom in simplicity…*I thank you*~

Eser I am rendered speechless, grasping for words as I stand before you; to you who are a creation beyond compare…*I thank you*~

Keyif I dance before you, mind untwisted; heart untied—a freestyle flow in which my body coincides; to you who have ushered me into this deliciously rowdy rejoicing of life… *I thank you*~

Kolay I remember vaguely my life before—cluttered and wracked with worry; to you who have simply swept the “stuff” aside…*I thank you*~

Uyanmak I spent my life sleeping to dream of tomorrows—hopes deferred in my todays; to you who have awakened me anew…*I thank you*~

Rahat I stepped into life with you like a pair of worn-in Levi 501’s; it was a perfect fit. To you who clothes me in comfort and grace…*I thank you*~

Evet I stopped doubting myself and began to believe. To you who exchanged my no of “reality” for the yes of possibility….*I thank you*~

Doymak I discovered the deceptive difference between “need” and “want”; the sweet recognition of satiety. To you who whispers softly, “It is enough”…*I thank you*~

Ekim I witnessed the blessed harvest; to you who planted and sowed with such love and patience; who toiled tirelessly over the barren wasteland that was myself…*I thank you*~

Renkli I re-painted my skies with the rainbow of promise; to you who brought color, igniting my world…*I thank you*~

Isik I emerged from the darkness, opening my eyes to seek; to you who were a source of light…*I thank you*~

Mutlukluk “I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart.” Quoting a poetess and embracing the words she breathed—I found happiness. To you who take delight in the truth: “I am, I am, I am”….*I thank you*~

TESEKKUR EDERIM, Turkey…I am a woman most grateful~

Sdupendous~

2010-05-23T07:44:00.006-10:00

Sdupendous~

Market day in Kas. I decided to walk into town. Having been lovingly * yet sternly * admonished for my “foolhardy and dangerous!” jolly swims across my beloved (yet increasingly windy!) channel….I figure some sunshine and other form of exercise will do just as well. Shoes laced, keys in hand, IPOD set to Sigur Ros (of course), a quick, passing wave to brother Mem (if I stop, he will try and talk me out of “overexerting myself in the hot sun,” braving one big a** hill/ driveway, and I am on my way.

Once I arrive at the top of the drive—winded, “glowing” (not sweating, mind you) and gung-ho, Sigur Ros ushers me into a steady stream of musical and visual bliss. Turkey provides the accompaniment…* teşekkür ederim, friend * For Forty-five glorious minutes, I make my way past glistening seascapes, pebbled beaches, residential roosters, fellow pedestrians (ponopeople that bless me with every breath), and (my favorites)…peek-a-boo grottos (yes, I see you, you lovely bashful beauties).

As I approach the corner that will bring me to the main street market, I prepare myself for what is to come. The peaceful pedestrian must swiftly switch roles…Clark Kent style…quick-changing into the cunning and alert consumer. What may appear as mere “shopping” to some, I have come to know more as a true sense of self-preservation here in Turkey (at least for my rapidly dwindling bank account) J

To give you a mental picture….it mostly has gone like “this” in the past…

-Arrival. Onslaught. Hands Up. Back-Peddling. Stuttering. Reeling. Gasping for deep breaths. Back-Peddling some more. Spinning. Whimpering (to myself thank God) the mantra “deep breaths,” when all I could hear like a spell-binding chant was “BUY! BUY! BUY!” Teetering about, wondering where in the world is my Zack Morris freeze-frame when I need it...words can only come to: Whoa Nellie…

I have learned a few tactics that have served me well thus far (ALL the TWO times I have tried them):

-No Eye Contact.

-Keep your a** moving! (Once you stop, you’re as good as toast!)

-If you MUST stop, Brace yourself--in what I lovingly refer to as the “Barter Stance!” (Basically, feet firmly planted, yet ready to roll…one eye on the merchandise (cursory glance of non-commitment of course) and the other eye on the door (or in this case….stall entrance…).

Normally, I am not buying, but today I am actually looking for something small for a friend’s birthday. The vendors sense this…it’s like some frighteningly sensitive alarm system in their psyches and I have a big, blinking neon aura around me. * And, yes….I have been spotted… *

The teetering old man surprisingly approaches with stealth-bomber speed, arriving directly under my nose (smaller in stature by a good foot, yet I sense instantly that he is the one in command of this situation). His ferocious friendliness and charm is almost palpable. I sense myself slowly crumbling beneath his easy manner, humorous antidotes and winning smile. I ask the price of a handwoven scarf I have had my eye on. It is quoted, and seems reasonable, yet my big brother Mem’s advice rings in my ears: “Andy, you NEVER buy the first price! That is for suckers! And the higher they sell to you for, the more of a sucker you are….*shaking his head all the while at my complete hopelessness and ignorance….tsk tsk* ” I take this wisdom to heart, and (Barter stance still holding strong!) back-peddle my way towards the escape….er…..exit.

Just for my curiosity’s sake, I waited just outside of view to watch this man work (this was by far better than any entertainment I have yet to stumble upon in my adventures). I must have observed for at least2 hours (they flew by) when I noticed a man pick up my scarf. I waited with abated breath as I listened to hear the quoted price ( I was mighty curious to know just how large of a “Sucker Sign” I had tattooed across my forehead this particular day. * Apparently, a biggun’ * …..the man was quoted HALF my price, and seemed happy as he reached for his wallet to pay. I gleefully took this opportunity to round the corner and interrupt with an innocently ignorant (of course) doe-faced: “I’ve decided it’s just too good of a deal to turn down! I’ll take it at your sale price and DO thank you ever soooo much for giving me the special!” * I even added a clandestine wink for good measure.

As I strolled out of the stall, merchandise hot in hand, I chuckled to (or at) myself (one can never tell which most days). The * sales price * * steal * of a scarf was beautiful, but it was the exultant look upon that vendors' face, coupled with the priceless machismo comraderie between the two men (who shared a secret smile * or snicker? * over the little American Super Sucker) that I considered to be worth every lire~

Turkish Tarzans~

2010-05-16T06:33:00.008-10:00

We woke up late (a luxury we are most definitely NOT allowing ourselves to get used to). Breakfast with our brothers. Add a new guest couple, recently moved in, to the mix…blessings abound. Carbo-loaded, laughter infused, energy boosted and charged with caffeine (Turbo-style Turkish, of course), and we are ready to greet this day.

Our morning swim across the channel has never felt so good. The current was strong, but we were stronger. The ocean’s pull was a welcome resistance, providing a challenge—something to shoot for and overcome…a goal. And, when we finished—fully spent—too tired for troubles—no energy left to waste on worry…we thanked Jah for all the cares castoff—collected now at the bottom of that salty sea—having slicked off our slight shoulders in the somewhere in between~

Morning melted into afternoon. Days here dally about; yet somehow we fill the time. Fellowship, peace, sunshine, and laughter—all merge as we go about our work in a moderate manner. Languid lengths of hours…merging into one 24 segment cycle.

Evening time now. Not yet night, and the morning having made its quiet exit long ago…the slight lull lingering in the space now left. What to do? Are we hungry? Not yet…the bountiful breakfast became brunch (and quite possibly will suffice for dinner as well if the fullness and satiety of our stomachs has its say). In fact, we can imagine its say would go something along the lines of: “lütfen! artık”….(“PLEASE, NO MORE!”) J We realize that we should probably write something today, but here at the hotel our family is such fun, not much penmanship or productivity is projected to occur. To town we go, then…

One dolma down (that’s a Turkish bus…and...after the first, we believe we may only “need” one, as our legs are suddenly not so tired anymore…* funny how claustrophobia, cramped spaces and odiferous aromas of various unidentified genres--and origins--can do that…*)…and we are deposited into the depths of the bustling, big town (try to contain your excitement..I know…it’s alot to take in all at once). From the one grocer, to the two main (and only!) drags, one really must pace themselves to absorb it all J

Okay! Focus, Ponopeople, we are writing tonight! Hmm…surveying the town square (which, we have to admit, is ROCKIN’ tonight!) we see that the town is represented in full force…all twelve of them. Woo-hoo *hands raised, fists pumpin’—fanfare *. Productivity and writing in mind, we skirt around the square’s edge in search of a place to perch our poetic awesomeness. There! Spotted!—a little corner of bench right by the sea…far enough away from the crowd, yet still enough atmosphere around to inspire—we have arrived! We launch into writing mode…Notepad: CHECK! Pen: CHECK! Lucky handmade ring from Ari: CHECK! Water: CHECK (hey, this writing can be tough..one must stay hydrated!) Black and white spotted feline friend avec notebook: What the (C)HECK?.... and enter our new kitty co-pilot. * Fabulous * just wonderful…now, if we could just have you, Miss Kitty, scoot over a * tad * …so we could * maybe * just see one corner of our paper…yes, thank you, that would be SUPER…* sigh*~

After humoring the little furry freeloader (yes, we fed her too….such pushovers), we sent her on her way, and set our focus back to work. Pen poised, we pondered plot, characters, setting, rising action, falling action, and climax... * as in, the head trauma we just underwent as the band of biker boys, avec little sisters in tow..avec SPLAYED SOCCER BALLS…awesome! BUMP THAT—literally (we are assuming they had the same idea…) * sigh *~ As we turn to give them all an EVIL “Hey what the HOO?” glare-with-a-nostril-flare!---our eyes rest upon the cutest, most adorable, infectiously endearing imp that we have ever seen. * Goners *…..we smile despite ourselves—In that instant the throb of our (now dinosaur egged) heads dissipating.

* Sigh…* ...* smile *... *sigh *…..Resigned, we allow ourselves to revel in the rambunctious rowdiness that is now enveloping us. Looking around at this tribe of tiny Turkish Tarzans, we know we are surrounded…we drop the pen, and reach for our camera (our own version of raising the white flag)… and surrender, swept up in the silly sounds and sweetness of youthful bliss….we are being held captive-ated~

Divine Chance~

2010-05-13T10:05:00.007-10:00

It was a blind date, neither of us knowing quite what to expect from the other. Yet, you did not seem nervous or ill at ease. In fact, it was your quiet confidence; your humble assurance, that attracted me instantly.

You met me at the airport gate. Without one word you had my bags; relieving me of the cumbersome weight I had been carrying. You apologized in broken English for your lack of communication…not realizing all the while, that from the second you smiled, we’ve been speaking the same language. You gently took my hand in yours; I let you lead.

We spent that first night together. I was surprised at how safe I felt, so soon. It is not like me at all. You were kind and vulnerable with me. You showed no fear or hesitation. Patiently pursuing me, you opened yourself up for me to discover…inviting me in…allowing me to know every inch of you. I find you irresistible. Your nakedness is beautiful to me. Spellbound, I cannot look away.

Because you gave all of yourself so freely…without fear…without reservation…unconditionally---you freed me to offer myself. I felt wanted…as I was…here…now. I felt beautiful. I felt flawless. I felt I belonged. I felt held. We fit together perfectly. The gentle pressure of your hips was not an oppression, nor controlling pulse—but rather our bodies and souls aligning in rhythm; dancing to a tune tangible to us alone. As I opened myself, you met me. Together we found our flow…poetry personified.

The morning after I did not have to worry…you were still there with me. A palpable peace—your presence beside me. I never had to tell you I needed my mornings to start softly. You wordlessly held me close, leaving me to gently greet the day my own way—in the peace and stillness of sunrise. You waited; I reveled in its radiance.

When it is time (and you always just seem to know when that is exactly) you bring me coffee—bold and black…just how I like it. Breakfast is simple (most of the things we share are)…made from good things from this good earth. Our bodies are nurtured; our souls, sustained.

Turkey, I am glad we took the risk...I look forward to this season of LIFE with you~

Just Like The Moon~

2010-05-07T00:48:00.007-10:00

Barcelona

I awoke early. Bouncing out of bed, I was eager to get to know you. You slept. You made me wait. I tried to go back to sleep and be patient, yet I felt restless...listless...lost. I am a morning person, didn't you know?

As I waited on you, I had time to think; time to pace the chilled marbled tiles, giving my icy feet time to remember (and grieve for) the warm, Hawaiian sand they'd so recently burrowed beneath. I had time to worry...to fret over how many mornings alone I would spend during our time together--time to calculate that loss in not just days, but hours...minutes...seconds...moments...and loved ones. I looked outside. Not even the sun would shed its light; instead making me wait in momentary darkness. I felt you were closed entirely to me, Barcelona. Even your shops and markets had no warm welcomes for me this morning....signs seemed to scream in resolved solidarity: "CERRADO!" I was awake, alone.

Unaffected, you took your time. As mid-day approached, I (being nearly at my wits' end, and certainly almost out of patience) watch as you nonchalantly amble towards me. Slowly, you beckon your day to begin, acknowledging noon in an unhurried aside. I follow at your heels, anxious to see who you are; what you are all about; to discover why you are so beloved among your people. To possibly understand why those who arrange their entire lives just to stay near to you possess such fierce loyalty in your name.

You stroll down the street, round three corners, cross one plaza, and slow. Sidling up to an unassuming sidestreet cafe, you enter...no introduction necessary. This is your spot. Here your table is ready--your coffee and croissant are waiting to warm you. I eat as well, feeling energized by the welcome repast. Yet, still, I wonder what it is exactly that is so special about you. You seem so quiet; almost rude; arrogant in your way. I wait to see.

You settle the bill and I assume we are on our way. My heart drops as I watch you leisurely reach for the daily news, shifting your weight ever so slightly--settling in. We sit for what seems like hours, observing as people pass. Your neighbors, your friends, your colleagues...all greeting you in quiet nods and familiar double-kisses from cheek to cheek. Your streets begin to slowly grind their gears--street vendors pedaling their wares; citizens shifting their paces into one slow and steady, collective hummmmm (yet in a reserved and almost regal way). I begin to see glimpses of life in you, Barcelona.

We share a lite lunch in a little cafe, and you open up a bit more in conversation. Gestures are more animated, and your muscles along your jawline (as well as your stiff upper lip) become more relaxed. I think I may have even caught a brief and fleeting glimpse of a grin at one point.

I begin to get excited, but now, where are you going? "Siesta," you say?!?!? But...isn't that just an exotic and very European-ese way of saying..."NAP?!?!" (as in the kind I used to be forced to endure back in the day...in Mrs Frye's Kindergarten class...while relegated to an orange foam mat that I DISTINCTLY remembered smelling of a grievous mixture of urine and cheetos?...) Well, if so (and I sadly fear it is), to be quite honest, this idea of wasting so much of my day away when I could be getting to know you, leaves quite the same odious stink to my senses). * Boo *.... Yet, I humor you, and we place our days on hold as we sleep. * sigh *

We awake and, surprisingly I feel refreshed. Almost, yes, almost as if this is morning anew. YOU bounce out of your bed and leave ME in the dust! There is much to do, you say, as I dash after you. We make our way through the (now bustling) streets; streets awake and alive with people yelling, heralding their family and friends across the avenues. I dodge children and papas giggling through a frenzied futbol session in the square...watch as a tiny curl-crowned Spanish princess passes by, greedily gobbling up her gelato--a tiny pink trail of sticky sweetness the only evidence remaining of her afternoon's delight.

Arriving at the pub, we sit. We eat. We drink. We laugh. And..I watch you come alive...mingling, dancing, reveling in fellowship and light. It is not until now that I see you, Barcelona. You, to me, personify the very rhythm of your days. We got off to a slow start. I only felt darkness from you...until I understood and looked closer. You, too, shine....the moon to Hawaii's sun, you are now understood, and recognized, with respect and newfound wonder.

I collapse into bed as we return home. How about tomorrow, new friend, let's sleep until noon....

Quitter...

2010-05-05T17:49:00.005-10:00

Anyone of you who communicates with me on a daily basis will already be aware of this tragedy, but for those who I am only privileged to share with in less frequent moments, I have a newsflash * insert dramatic pause for effect here *....(wait for it)....and.....(deep breath)....[___]...

***My computer officially (and rather passive aggressively, I might add!) gave me her resignation yesterday***.

I am nonplussed * and not to mention quite a bit perturbed--hurt, even. * Basically a seastorm of emotional waves rockin' this bosslady's world right about now. My therapist (okay, maybe it was more like something I heard Stuart Smalley say once on SNL...) suggested that I write a letter to my recent "employee" voicing my feelings...in hopes that I may arrive at some small semblance of peace and closure concerning this travesty. So, here is said attempt (bear with me, as it is still in its rough draft stages...)

Mrs. Computer,

I consider myself to be a fairly reasonable employer. I am grateful for all of the things/ work that you have aided with, and supported me in accomplishing over the years. I do believe I have expressed this gratitude on several occasions in fact. I even distinctly am remembering some hand clapping and happy dancing occurrences *I would say that was enthusiastic thankfulness for sure *.

True, I understand how working without one single paycheck, in well over two years, could have had an impact on your decision. However, I still have to admit that your just up and quitting with no notice, nor even a verbal acknowledgment of the gaping void you would be leaving behind in your wake, I find to be grossly unprofessional.

That being said (and speaking *ahem* of unprofessionalism) I do see that I may have contributed in a few, small, very minor, areas to the development of your recent unhappiness in my employ. For these I would now like to apologize (as my therapist..*coughs*...okay! okay! again, it was from SNL Stuart one night when I couldn't sleep, but still!)...he said it was "a good and lovely thing to do" as long as I keep repeating the entire time to myself a personal "me mantra"..."I am me, and I am OKAY!* )....too much information? Okay....*throat clears* ...ooooohh-kayy.....back to the point....

My apologies for:

1) Being the incredible hotness that I am. [I am sorry, but I cannot leave unnoticed that you were turned on by me almost every single time I would come into the room. Really, I mean, you just lit up. Now, I would be lying if I said I do not carry you with me everywhere and always, but, alas, I am in a relationship you know...and I am very sorry if I sent you the wrong signals with all the time we spent together...mea culpa~

2) (As mentioned above), the no pay. Yeah, about that...would you reconsider if I could offer free travel, a five-star resort stay, and the best company known to man? (Do think on that...)

3) The onslaught of incoherent mumbling, frequent crying, occasional cursing, and yes, even that one *cough* (or two?) isolated instance(s) of yelling. (I thought you understood that came with the territory in this business...)

4) And finally (and this I am realizing may have really pushed you over the edge), I apologize for stripping down and getting completely naked in front of you every single time I sat down at my desk to work. Which, just now, strikes me that this behavior could seem to some (who of course, are not aware of our particular line of work) as being mildly awkward and inappropriate...

*The List Goes On....*

-------------------

Friends, this is as far as I have gotten with the letter. I, for some reason * and I can't quite put my finger on it * am not entirely sure that I am quite communicating * exactly * what I mean to say here...

~Sound (Affects)~

2010-05-01T21:42:00.007-10:00

Airports. Microscopic blinks. Brief, concentrated glimpses of this macroscopic world, and all those inhabiting it. I have always found them to be fascinating on so many levels. From fashion to finances, being a spectator as the spectrum of humanity colors my scope of sight, is such an eye-opening experience.

In fashion-forward Europe, where couture is king, it is not surprising that I would gravitate first to clothing commentary. Today, some people dressed for style (from 8 inch high stiletto heels and skinny jeans, to thigh high boots and barely-there mini skirts; fashion is always a factor here in Barcelona). Other people (such as myself) dressed more for *coughs* ...."comfort." (Yes, I assure you, I strategically planned this outfit--fully aware that I am in the mecca of mod). These jeans, sneakers and tee shirt are going to serve me well, and allow me the luxury of breathing, thank you very much...(and yes, they also just may announce to the entire European airport: "American tourist! American tourist!" )

Closing the fashion file, I make my way up the terminal stairs, surveying the crowd en route. Those who seem in a hurry (or perhaps just were inspired by a secret, undying affection for aerobic idol Richard Simmons and his sweatin' to the Oldies self) took the steps. Those who opted for the escalator, I noted, could be grouped into two major categories:

1) Those who were in a hurry, yet too lazy to take matters completely into their own hands (or feet?) and actually climb...they rather more were half-a**ing is, while hemming and hawing at the second group...

2) Yes, group number two...those poor, innocent bystanders who alighted the escalator fully secure in (and resolved to maintain) their stationary states. The longer I watched this parody of Truman-show transit, I realized that there actually kind of was a non-verbal (yet understood) "protocol" to this processional. Basically, if you weren't going to move your rump, you had better GET RIGHT!

Once I recognized this pattern, I decided to post myself off to the side and "Charles Darwin" it for a bit. For a good twenty minutes (seriously), I entertained myself with the emotional outbursts of "inconvenienced" travelers as the rump-resters refused to stay right, or * heaven forbid * absent-mindedly allowed any portion of their person to remotely venture into the left-hand lane. *Hem!**Haw!**Hurrumph!**Wheeze!**WAIL!** (and, yes, there actually was at least one distinct and gutteral wail). Sound effects make everything better, do they not? ;)

Finally tearing myself away from this asthmatic display of ire, I headed to find something to drink. As I was standing in line at the airport cafe, I noticed a striking difference in how much people were spending. I saw parents buying children 10 Euro grilled cheese sandwiches that would most definitely remain half-eaten (or find their way, in short order, to their final resting places on the sticky terminal floor). Others (like myself) were notably (not necessarily by choice, mind you!) more "frugal" with their funds. As I got to the cashier and reached into my purse, raising, with trembling fingers, the whopping 5.95 Euros to meet her open fist...I willed myself to NOT calculate exactly how much that worked out to be in American dollars. Sheesh....She smiled with me (okay, maybe she was actually more like laughing AT me)...but she "got it." As in, she knew exactly that I was thinking: "This better be some DAMN GOOD Arizona Green Tea!"

And here I sit, waiting for my plane to board...and sipping my 6 Euro Arizona Green Tea. I am present...soaking it all in...surrounded by style, spendthrifts, and yes, sound effects~

Awaken the Senses~

2010-04-30T00:50:00.015-10:00

I am what most people would call a "morning person." Love them (Or hate them), "morning people" are generally known for greeting the day with gusto! Hutzpah! Fanfare! Razzamatazz! (And if you are one of these chosen few, and it just so happens to be before noon as you are presently perusing this blog, then please do feel free to insert whatever * dazzling * emotion you are presently rockin' out here___________.)

This morning, however, was different. I woke up feeling...nothing. The eager anticipation of demolishing my "To See" list here in Barcelona, coupled with my darned diligence and frightening efficiency and go get 'em mentality, had seen to it that I had no plan or desired destination for this particular day whatsoever.

I thought to get up...* Meh *... (The day can wait). I thought of taking a shower...* Meh *...(Hygiene is sooo overrated I tell myself). I thought of making breakfast...* Meh * (Pancakes for one? No Thanks). I thought of calling home...*AAAAAND we have motion! * fanfare! *...rolls...slowly...grunts...rolls...thud. Pad, pad, pad...scuffle, scuffle....hum....dials...and, yes...*home*.

Home caught me up with their day(s), and home asked me about mine. Home shared with me, and home received my share in return. Home recognized my loneliness, and home met me in that ache. Home helped me to remember, yet reminded me in whispers sweetly of the blessed now. Yes, home got me out of that bed. And then...home lit a fire under my a** (with love of course). "Do you feel that?" I felt like I was being asked. "No" I replied....still numb. "Well then, FEEL this..." (a small nudge....okay, what then became a firm push, out the door).

The sunlight was blinding....I felt its warmth. Placing one leaden foot before the other, I stumbled towards the sea. I could sense the strain of my leg muscles with each new stride; the contraction of my calves with every step...I felt motion.

On the boardwalk, the waves of bikers blow past me...I feel the wind left by their wake gently rock my frame.

The adoring couple, unapologetic in their open affections...I feel connection.

The raucous children, launched into spastic motion with such eagerness and enthusiasm, trill their tinkling laughter--a holy chorus of angels more heavenly and spiritual than any church choir these ears have ever heard. I feel cleansed.

The nude sunbathers, baring all. I feel the heat of solar energy; its reflection dancing among their flawed, yet beautiful forms.

I feel it all. It is closing in around me...squeezing me until I cannot do anything but focus on each new breath. Pulsating. Throbbing. Bubbling up and spilling over. Unable to be contained within the vacuumed void of numbness, it will not be deterred.

I feel *life.*

I see it being lived.

I hear the beating of my own heart...in response and humbled recognition.

I taste the sweetness of partaking.

I touch upon truth.

~Awakened~

Funk-y~

2010-04-25T06:44:00.004-10:00

I woke up this morning and was met with warmth and sunshine. I knew today was the day for my Parc Guell. I dressed with trembling excitement…fingers fumbling over zippers, buttons and laces; distracted by what laid ahead. Then…realization—I am alone. This beautiful, blissful experience…el solo~

I slumped back down on my bed and contemplated (not gonna lie….for at LEAST 5 good minutes) burrowing back under the covers in an Eeyore-esque pile of goo. Can we say funk?

I glanced over at my bag—my trusty little camera peeking out at me. I saw her eyeing me, judging me, taunting me in her cheery little chirp: “Pile of Funk!” “Pile of Funk!”…

I giggled despite myself (fully intending to wallow in my loneliness and “woe is me” mentality, thank you very much…) and dragged my arse across the room to pick her up gently. She hummed to life and began a delightful dance through the days of my past, stepping gracefully to the trilling tunes stored in her memory—the waters of home, baking/barista beauties, lions in winter, communal cups of coffee, bonfires with brothers, swimming with sisters, best friend beauticians, sunrises with mothers at Kahana Bay, English nerds, Club dancing divas, Contra comrades, bands of bikers, and Hawaiian hippies. Tears of remembrance and fullness stung my eyes.

I gingerly placed you all in the palm of my hand…grateful fingers stretching to receive the full beauty and breath of you. I curled my tiny fist around you tightly…and held on.

We go~

And to the loneliness and “el solo” mentality?..........

“ Funk That”~

Spanish Spelling For Futbol~

2010-04-23T13:30:00.006-10:00

Tensions run high. Voices raise. Feet stamp. Fists pound, while hand gestures abound.

To say that the people of Barcelona get “excited” about futbol (American soccer) is like saying that the 13-year-old, angst-ridden, love-bitten drama-queen just “kinda sorta” thinks that this Justin Bieber kid is “cute”….HECK NO! She hearts him! He is DREAMY and she is smitten *with added swoonage *. Therefore, my simile stands…

It is the match of Barcelona versus Inter Milan. My ex-patriot companion has graciously offered himself to be my tourguide extraordinaire during my time here in Barcelona. He asserts that any visit would not be complete without witnessing firsthand the gusto with which Barcelona spectates sports (specifically futbol). He is most assuredly correct.~

Even before the first whistle is blown—talk is big, jaws are clinched, chests are puffed, shoulders are squared, legs are tensed, feet are fidgeting, and the air is HOT. To my right is seated an English sports journalist who is covertly cheering for the “others.” Brave, brave man, that one. The commentary shared by the journalist, mostly through smirking side-glances and whispers, kept me in stitches of laughter throughout the entire match. He informed me straight away of what to expect throughout the night, and he was right on the money in every prediction. Were his amazing psychic powers? (Or simply the experience of a seasoned spectator of the spectators?) *I’ll wager on the latter*~

As promised:

-Yes, The Barcelona fans would be a lively, loud, passionate and devoted bunch, filled to overflowing with hutzpah and machismo.

-Yes, I would be swept up in the swell of energy…completely taken with the tenacity with which “true Spaniards” revere this game…the mood(s) of the mob ebbing and flowing according to the waves rocked by each whistle….the refs causing a ripple effect that would fan out in a stirring rage, or one rousing celebratory revelry.

Yes, the referees (as far as Barcelona is concerned) would be one of two people by the end of the evening: 1) The keenest, most wise and astute men in the world, or 2) the most asinine, blind bats (aka scourge of the earth).

In this case, Barcelona lost. *Cue rage ripples * Stupid refs! An array of angry “OI’s!” heard all around, echoes. Those idiot referees probably don’t even know how to spell futbol!...

…(that’s “eff’-you-t-b-o-l" here in Barcelona when you’re making calls like that, buddy)~

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* I already cannot wait for the next game against Madrid. I really hope Barcelona wins that one…now that I have seen what refs revealed as dung look like…it would be interesting to see refs dubbed deity next go round…

Waken to Sunrise~

2010-04-22T06:06:00.010-10:00

Although this is based alot on my personal experience...I imagine all you Adams and Eves out there...you lions and fairies...males and females alike, have all felt as I have; looking into the future and the unknown, and trembled...I hope you feel not so alone after reading this, and are somehow blessed and encouraged~

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Lions in winter,

Hawaii sun sells summer.

Remember Springtime~

You Fairies in flight,

Europe's moon whispers "Autumn,"

Remember Springtime~

Lions, you charge them!

Those waves of worry; self-doubt.

Our Mother, Reveals~

Fairies, you fly them!

Sunshine and rainbow-filled skies.

Our Mother, Reveals~

For strength and vigor,

Look, Lions, when you feel weak,

Our Father, He heals~

For peace and courage,

See, Fairies, the clouds clearing.

Our Father, He heals~

As evening tides rise,

Listen, Lions; Love lingers.

Waken to sunrise~

Through thunderous nights,

Hear, Fairies; joyful singing.

Waken to sunrise~

Selah~

Spanish Rainbows~

2010-04-17T08:01:00.004-10:00

Spanish Rainbows * I Thank You *

-The old, weathered men who meet for their daily domino tournament…thank you fellowship~

-My favorite of the domino contenders…smoking his cigar like clockwork from 10 til 2…thank you consistency~

-The vendor at the market with the shy smile; everyday she anticipates my visit and has my favorite yogurt and cheeses ready and wrapped in special paper…most days there is a surprise something sweet she has slipped in from her oven at home….thank you generosity~

-The children in the park, gleefully terrorizing the pigeons on Place Catalunya; their shrieks of sheer delight as they chase and scare the bejesus out of the birds…thank you explosive exuberance~

-The gnarled, wrinkled woman who emerges from the water, and nonchalantly mounts her bike and continues to pedal proud as a peacock down the crowded boardwalk: naked as the day she was born…thank you self-confidence~

-The metropolitan tenants with their rooftop gardens, planting and cultivating life—bringing nature and all the beauty it beckons, into the city…thank you growth~

-The young man from the Metro, giving his seat to the young mother whose arms * not to mention her mind * were filled to overflowing, and heavy…thank you recognition~

-The American tourist who offers a hefty sum to the haggard, street beggar on La Ramblas, no questions asked…thank you compassion~

-The trusty Mac computer, providing the link to home, and all the love that was left there…thank you connection~

-The camera Lam blessed me with, snatching snippets of time—so that I may share these beautiful moments to those who cannot see what I see…thank you thoughtfulness~

-The cheery yellow bike that ferries me along my journeys—sharing miles and miles of memories…thank you freedom and flight~

-James, a Godsend, satisfying my starving soul with friendship and grace…thank you companionship~

-The hundreds of prayers, comments and emails offered daily…continuous reminders that I am truly not alone, and that “you go with me”…thank you encouragement~

-The amazing adventure and opportunity that is this journey—the seeking of perspective, awareness, growth, and light…thank you experience~

-The breath I awaken with, that carries me throughout the day…thank you life~

Cerrado~

2010-04-13T20:20:00.007-10:00

Metro man

Furrowed, brow

Furtive, forward-focused eyes

Arms crossed

Legs together

Jaw clenched

Muscles taut

Tight, pinched lips *I can only imagine your bum cheeks are in the same strict state… *

Shoulders slightly slumped

Metro man…your body shrinks from me…its language telling of a concave creature, whose stature screams "CERRADO!"

Metro man, you are like a shop whose lights are turned off, yet the shopkeeper remains behind, smoking his pipe in front of the glass windows….fully aware that the dim glow beckons to passersby, teasing and taunting.

I wonder if you know how much they want to come and sit awhile with you…how they ache to hear your stories…to have the rich, velvet aroma of your stogie saturate their senses, sweeping them up in fellowship.

One of these days, Metro Man, I will get to you. When you are tired and weary. When your guard is down. I will catch your eye. I will cause your gaze to stray, and I will smile. I will smile unabashedly, and you will at first be embarrassed by my childishness---my inappropriate and brash behavior. Then you will realize you are too exhausted for embarrassment. Your day will have so beaten and bruised you, seeming to rob you of all joy…it is THIS day you will have left only the energy for embrace.

Blessings be, Metro Man. I await with joyful expectation, that day…when I can share smiles, or perhaps just sit and smoke with you~

Tears of Recognition~

2010-04-12T09:25:00.005-10:00

I cried today.

I cried not when I awoke thousands of miles from home.

I cried not when my bare feet (so used to the Hawaiian warmth) hit the cold, marble floor.

I cried not when my greeting to the flat’s concierge faded into the air unmet.

I cried not when the front door opened to a decibel of howling wind that only dogs, or perhaps bats could intelligibly decipher.

I cried not when the taxicab blared its horn at my apparent inadequacy in crossing the road in a timely manner.

I cried not when the waitress at the restaurant refused to serve me, as I could not order in “proper Spanish.”

I cried not when the next waiter barely met my eye, as I seem to serve only in being an unwanted nuisance here...damn tourist.

I cried not when the "toast" I ordered really turned out to be something with ham and a yellowish sauce of sorts…on top of um, bread (I think).

I cried not when I left the café starving, too proud to return the unknown something in order to get what I really wanted.

I cried not when I, on my morning run, passed by the fellowjoggers, who I realized sadly were not my “fellow” anythings.

I cried not when my legs began to burn, my exhausted physical body beginning to slowly match the state of my weary heart and emotions.

I cried not when I stopped to watch the sea, my lungs seering in pain…protesting angrily at the pace I had pushed upon them.

Old man, off to my right. I catch a glimpse of you. Small in stature you appear to be….yet after my morning…you are menacing. Dare I meet your gaze…and risk my soft, thin skin being bruised yet again? I turn, despite my better judgment. I see you. You offer me not a smile….not even a full look in the eye…but you tip your hat to me—a slight nod of your head….recognition that I AM.

I cried today.

Anonymity and Acquaintance~

2010-04-07T20:13:00.014-10:00

In a matter of 48 hours, I have uprooted myself from a small, sleepy community on an island in the middle of the Pacific, only to now find myself dropped amid a bustling, Metropolitan mega-city. To label this transition as “jarring” would be an understatement of epic proportions. For the last two days I have been immersed within thoughts regarding contrasting environments. I am still sorting through my many wandering notions, but if you don’t mind, I will share a few (with such hope and prayers that you will be challenged in your own thoughts, as well as add to these with you own ruminations).

I am convinced (without a doubt) that ingrained deep within the very essence of my being, I am a wide-open spaces seeking / country living / blue sky loving/ fresh water swimming/ mountain climbing kind of a girl. It is a common joke among my close friends that (if left to my own devices and inclinations) I would be happy as a clam living far, far away from most civilization (in fact, I actually do… J). They know I am, indeed, simply a “Hobbit at heart.” My great friend Lam often calls me on the telephone, insisting that I: “Emerge from the Hobbit hole (our loving term of endearment for my apartment) pronto!” So, yes, I do like my peace, quiet and serenity. I also know that I prefer to live my daily life operating on a smaller scale, and at a slower pace. Knowing this about myself, and finding myself here and now (in an environment in all points counter to that inclination) is quite the experience for this self-professed “country girl.” “Why am I so?” I have been exploring now…”Why do I SAY I am such…and what is it that big, bad Barcelona (or large cities in general) symbolize to me (at least from my perspective?) Maybe some of you have wondered the same thing(s)…

I am sitting here in a café, writing. It is a busy, buzzing beehive of sound and movement. The energy is intense, yet not overwhelmingly so, nor unpleasant by any means…just “charged,” if you will—like a renewable battery that you somehow know will just never run down. I find it odd, in light of this buzz, that I get the most work done in coffee shops and cafes, at least here in Europe. Perhaps it is because no one “bothers” me. I do not speak the language. I am foreign—unfamiliar, and an unknown variable in the regular patrons’ habitual routines.

My morning run produced a similar situation, awareness, and feeling within me. I left my flat and jogged through a particularly crowded industrial section of La Gran Via. Besides the few honked horns and animated air-kisses offered up with enthusiasm and gusto (have I mentioned yet that Spanish men are quite the charming lot?), I glided through the city streets in a state of surreal solitude. Once I reached the seashore and continued along the boardwalk, not much changed. Only a few smiles were obtained from passersby and fellow runners—each of which were greedily gobbled up by this starving Southern-bred “sweetness” and cordiality loving soul. I find this situation…anonymity (or what you want to call it)…not to be good or bad necessarily, in and of itself. It simply is what it “is.”

Anonymity is actually what I am loving about Barcelona most thus far. The fact that I can take a run, or venture out to a coffeeshop and literally be “bothered” by no one, I must admit, seems an almost sinfully selfish, although decadent and delicious, luxury some days. A sense of inexplicable freedom fills me when I think of this…a lightness of being of sorts. “Why?” I have asked myself. The best answer I can surmise is summed up in three simple words: UNFETTERED BY ACQUAINTANCE.

I will try and describe this feeling more clearly: An “acquaintance,” to me, signifies those relationships in my life that have no depth. They are new, or in the beginning stages. Or perhaps (sadly) they may even be quite old, yet remain immature and stunted in their growth. These “acquaintances” are the relational bonds that I sense will require much energy and exhaustive effort to “get there” in desired intimacy depth (if that goal is even possible at all…it is so rare to find that level of “knowing” and “share”). So, to me, Barcelona (or any place that offers me this “freedom from acquaintance”) is giving me such an amazing gift—the elimination/ cutting of those (loose and surface) “ties that bind.” (And so severely and bluntly doing so). I sense that it should hurt, yet feel only extreme relief and refreshment~

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This was just a small smattering of my thoughts so far on what I am experiencing within myself here…what this new transition and life season is all bringing to mind. I am aware this post is dangerously teetering on the edge of becoming entirely too long and tedious, so I will wrap up for now—leaving you with open-ended ideas and inklings (and hopefully a wide-open forum for dialogue!) on anonymity, acquaintance(s), and all things inhabiting among them~