“This is a familiar scenario in our homes, in our workplaces, in our communities, even when we’re just driving our cars. We’re just driving along and someone cuts in front of us and then what? Well, we don’t like it, so we roll down the window and scream at them. War begins when we harden our hearts, and we harden them easily—in minor ways and then in quite serious, major ways, such as hatred and prejudice—whenever we feel uncomfortable. It’s so sad, really, because our motivation in hardening our hearts is to find some kind of ease, some kind of freedom from the distress that we’re feeling.” Pema Chodron
“Intuition is a powerful weapon, it’s the only way that your spirit has to communicate with you.” Stephen Littleword
The Pez annual Easter Egg Hunt for Children, in Connecticut had to be cancelled. It wasn’t because of “the kids these days” either. Nope, it was because of the people in charge of raising “the kids these days” – their parents.
Adults suck because they are always painting their own agendas, fears, insecurities, beliefs, etc . . . all over the innocence and fun of children. Children are capable of running and playing and having fun with all the other kids. They win, they lose, they share. When they don’t share, the natural consequences of the herd take care of that. The other kids stop wanting to play with you until you learn to share. No-one gets killed or trampled in the process, you just learn that “friends” require give and take.
This Easter, one family of grandkids arrived at our home for an Easter egg hunt. It contained an older sister and 3 very close in age, very aggressive, very male, little boys. They ranged in age from 2 – 5 and are constantly competing for all things life. As they ran back and forth on the lawn finding their eggs to put in their “baskets” there were shouts of happiness and good natured taunting. There was some impromptu racing for the egg spied across the yard in the birdbath, a little bit of shoving, but mostly laughing. In the end, all tired and sweaty, proud of their efforts, they handed over their eggs to be put into the fridge to keep them from melting. No-one cared about counting who had the most. In the end, when they came out of the fridge, the children wanted them divided between them all, regardless of who had found them. Kids are capable of a heck of a lot of decent human behaviour when the adults can just back off and not project all their own crap all over them. Continue reading
I am not saying that I don’t have compassion for this model and the fact that she was attacked by a herd of pheasants on the way to the fashion shoot but I don’t think she is “Shmizing” with her eyes like Tyra says models should and making “duck lips” only draws attention to the dead pheasant on her head. The only positive thing I can say about this whole presentation is that it appears she nailed her pose … I think those are nails in her boots. Also, I think Models should be more appreciative of the fact they are making all kinds of money just to not eat and then stand there. Of course, it is possible that her grandma showed up and is in the audience and has once again taken out her teeth and removed her bra and that look is just an “are you freaking kidding me? Not again. I am really sick to death of grandma and her damn shenanigans.” If that is the case, I would apologize – providing someone can supply me with pictures as proof, and the judge says it is either apologize or jail. I will not die for fashion. I like to eat too much.
At one point in our travels, my hubby and I made a trip to the beautiful Milla Milla Falls in Northern Queensland. We had arrived just shortly after the last cyclone had destroyed so much of the beautiful countryside and many of the trails and roads were damaged and blocked. It was awe inspiring to witness the ability of nature to destroy what we look at as so permanent and solid … whole forests where the trees were uprooted, broken and tossed like matchsticks … forests left looking like broken fields of stubble. Like many tourists, I had seen countless pictures of the famed falls and dreamed of one day being able to visit them, imagining them to be exactly like the pictures promised. I could not help but feel a bit disappointed and cheated that we were going to see them in these circumstances, in the aftermath of a horribly destructive cyclone. We slowly made our way through flooded and damaged roads and detours, to the falls. Once we arrived, we parked the car and walked down the road to get a closer look.
There were quite a few people there but everyone spoke in hushed tones. The falls appear to just “silently” slip over the side of the cliff and “rain” down into the calm quiet pool beneath. I was lost in the tropical lushness, the smells, and the sounds. Even a cyclone seemed to have little impact, if its point was to try and destroy it. All I could think of was how long those falls had been there and the countless generations who had stood, as I was then, in awe of the beauty. I could see lovers slipping in late at night, children laughing and splashing one another, grandparents taking off their shoes and wading in “just a bit.” A deep spirit of life permeated each second we stood. I had never fully appreciated water and its relevance to life before. Growing up in water rich Canada, we never faced rationing of supplies or worried concern that the dams were not filled. Here in Australia, I was learning that the land was a hard task master and that we honoured and appreciated every resource we were given. Here water had survived the storm and stood untouched, while trees all around had been ripped from their roots and tossed across the land. This water flowed, as does the life blood of the Australian people. It was awe inspiring to stand there that day. I breathed in, wanting to flood my soul with all of it so that I would always be able to close my eyes and come back to it, whenever I wanted to. I cautiously snapped some pictures, already knowing that they would not begin to do justice to what we were seeing and feeling. It was just another way to hang on to the moment, even though we knew the real imprint was on our hearts. Continue reading
“We are powerful beyond measure, and so deeply vulnerable at the same time. This may seem like a dichotomy, but it isn’t. We have misunderstood real power. It has been something assertive, nonsurrendering, pushing on through. This is not real power. This is simply willfulness. Real power is something else—receptivity, vulnerability, the courage to keep your heart open on the darkest of days, the strength to feel it all even when the odds are stacked against you. Real power is showing up with your heart on your sleeve and absolutely refusing to waste one moment of your life hidden behind edginess and armor. The art of enheartened presence. Now that’s power.” Jeff Brown