Headlong into the wind....

(our newly remodeled home office)


If you have been reading my blog, you know that I've had a rough time of things regarding my career. This year marks my last year at my current institution, and I admit that I am facing the beginning of the year with a great deal of trepidation.

It will not be easy.

Let's face it, it will be an extremely stressful situation, to go in every day with a smile pasted on my face, pretending that I have not a care in the world. Just thinking about going back has had me sleepless or with nightmares for weeks now.

Meanwhile, I need to figure out where I go from here.

That's not to say that I don't have ideas, or haven't been thinking about options.

Believe me, I have.

Life, however, must cooperate with my dreams. So this year, I need to be extra sensitive to the opportunities that avail themselves to me, and grab for the golden ring. In fact, one particular opportunity made itself known to me just this week, as if a sign from above. I will be following up on that avenue, rest assured!

I know that I will overcome this bump in the road.

And I know this, because I have the greatest support system in the world, waiting for me at home.

And this is how I will make it through this year.

With a newly remodeled home office space, to make working pleasurable!



And with these smiling faces and warm cuddly bodies to help make the world disappear, if even for a few hours each night.

Our sweet, adorable Miss Scarlett...


And our old man, Monte, who I swear is at least 50% cat himself...




(and our two elder cats, who remain a bit camera shy....Sulu and Lucy).

I will endure. I will survive.

And I will thrive.

Thanks to the ones who've got my back. Oh, and of course, most of all to the best warm cuddly body of all, who can always make me smile.

Hana's Story

(my sketch of Hana)


This must needs be a multiple part post. It's a bit unnerving to me, to write about Hana, because it is so close to my soul. She is so much a part of me, that it is like exposing myself when I write about her.

But I promised, so here goes.

Hana's story is complex.

I have written here before about my Holocaust dreams, dreams that started when I was a child of only about 4 years old. Over and over again, I dreamt horrible things, images of the atrocities of the Holocaust. When I began to have these dreams, I had no idea what the Holocaust was, or what any of the dreams meant. I only knew they frightened me, and that I felt as if they were not merely dreams, but memories.

But how could they be memories?

As I grew older, I began to understand what I had been experiencing. It was not until I was in my mid-30s, however, that I comprehended their full significance.

I was having dreams from a past life.

The first past life that I fully uncovered was that of Rachel, a Russian Jewish woman, who was killed in a pogrom in Russia in the 1890s. She was married to a man named Yakov, and they had a beautiful daughter, Sarah, who also perished that day in the pogrom, despite Yakov's efforts to save them.

As I began to delve deeper into my past life experiences, I re-discovered Hana.



(The town square at Kazimierz-Dolny)

Hana was a 10 year old little girl, from the town of Kazimierz-Dolny in Poland. This was a quiet market town, about 2 hours outside of Krakow. She had a lovely life before the war, adored her father and was the apple of her mother's eye. They had a small farm and her father sold milk and produce in the town square every week.

One night, as I opened myself up to her memories, a flood of names rushed at me. I believe that her last name was Skibiskova, or something similar. She also was very fond of a man named Pulli Eckstein, from the village, who served a grandfatherly role for her. Her father, Wladek played the violin, and her mother Elsabet was a strong woman with broad shoulders and a huge heart. Her maiden name was Rawkow.

Their life was peaceful and calm, until the Nazis arrived.

Her family was rounded up, along with all the other Jews in the area, and sent to the camp at Maidanek, where Hana would perish in the gas chambers. She was captured by two Ukrainian brothers, Anton and Marko Danilovich, who were aiding the Nazis with the persecution of the Jews.

Once in the transport, Hana was ripped from her parents, and she became frantic to find them again. At the camp, a female Nazi SS guard took Hana roughly by the hand and began to walk her down the Black Path towards the gas chamber. Hana had her red ball in her hand, but dropped it along the way and was worried about finding it again. Inge, the guard, distracted Hana, singing songs and telling stories, and promising that Hana would find her parents once more at the end of the walk.

Instead, Hana found blackness.

Hana would perish, along with about 100 other young women, in a gas chamber at the back of the camp.

The dreams I had, starting with age four, were all various versions of Hana's memories. Most of them revolved around a huge door being shut on me, and my screaming in fear at the guards who were closing them. I also had repeated dreams about dying inside the gas chamber. This is most likely the source for my claustrophobia.

All of these memories came to me, repeatedly, before I made my trips to Poland and to the camps. Once there, especially at Maidanek and at Kazimierz-Dolny, I felt Hana everywhere. These experiences only solidified my conviction that I was Hana. Over and over again, I saw what she saw, felt what she felt, experienced what she experienced. And, ultimately, as I stood on the grounds of Maidanek, I knew when, where, and how she perished.

Her story has come out in bits and pieces, in the form mostly of poetry, which I will share here on this blog. And more of her story will also emerge, as I haltingly begin to let the memories tell themselves here.

Please help me remember Hana, and all the Hanas of the Holocaust, to ensure that such tragedy may be prevented from ever happening again.

Taking Care of the Self

Lately, my dreams have been out of control.

I usually have vivid, detailed, and often bizarre dreams that are filled with meaning, and I learned long ago to listen to my dreams and what they are telling me.

Lately, though, I'm being overwhelmed by them.

Though the subject of the dreams varies, the underlying meaning does not: my life is out of control.

To the outsider, nothing is noticeable. Life goes on, and I seem calm, collected, and on top of things.

And for the moment, this is true.

But my need for long-term control is driving me nuts. Because, as I've written about here earlier, as of May I will not have a job. And that knowledge is driving me insane.

So much so that I am driven to control the aspects of my life that I can, indeed, control.

For instance, it explains my rabid desire to finish painting this summer before I go back to school. Originally, once I had finished the TV room, guest room, and bath and hallway in the basement, I was going to take a break from painting until at least Christmastime.

But now I have a bee in my bonnet to paint our office. You see, it's the last room I can paint on my own, without hiring someone, in our house. So, now I want it done.

Because it's something I CAN DO and thus I can control the outcome.

It's not fear, really, that is getting me. I have this sense that, ultimately, things will work out and I will be fine and that I will be meant to move in whatever direction comes next.

It's the uncertainty, though. That's what gets me.

I hate not knowing.

I hate not being able to determine my own path.

And my dreams keep reminding me that, in fact, I do not. For instance, the other night, I dreamt that I was in charge of getting a living history display up and running in a neighboring town. I was in a van with several others, driving full tilt down a highway over the mountains, with the doors of the van flung open and us struggling to keep inside. Behind us followed a Canastoga Wagon pulled by 6 horses, and a hitch team of a variety of farm animals (including pigs, goats, cows, and a mule). As we came down the mountain, suddenly it was covered with snow (lots of WHITE imagery in my dream - highly significant) and the wagon lost control and wound up plowing into the bank and flipping over. The animals behind were in danger of being crushed.

The interpretation of this dream is simple: the items in my charge were wildly out of control and there was nothing I could do about it.

So, the question is how I can wrap my brain around this dilemma and move beyond it. Obviously, I have MONTHS to go before I will know where my life will lead me next. How do I ease my troubled mind and let go of this need to control?

I think I am finding the answer, right where it has always been, in the pool. As I swam yesterday, I let myself go and let the water support me, let it take me where I needed to go, and let its energies fill my soul.

The angst is still there, admittedly, but its power is lessened. Hopefully, with more time in the water, I'll become strong enough to let go of the control completely and go where life needs me to be.

How will you take care of yourself today?

Another spiritual visitor

(my sketch of Elena)

I have been thinking a lot about Hana, since I promised that I would tell her story here.

Hana's story is, in many ways, my own story. You see, I was Hana in a former life.

So her story hits me very very close to home. It is highly emotional to experience and retell it.

So, her story is reluctant to come to physical form.

In the mulling and thinking, however, I opened myself up to the other side. And last night I had another encounter, one that I am able to talk about now.

Last night, I met Elena.

I can always tell when spirits will contact me. I get very restless, and edgy. I feel as if I need to write, but don't know what. And the room gets cold.

Last night, it started with a face in my mind. A woman, probably in her 50s, with long black hair, dark eyes, and strong angular features. Elena's face. Her face was so vivid in my mind that I had to draw her.

I am not an artist. Not by a long shot. Mostly, I draw stick figures and flowers.

But I had to draw Elena. (I have also drawn Hana...but that will wait for her own post).

I drew the sketch and felt something so powerful from it that I had to share it with my friend, who also has psychic abilities.

She, too, was deeply drawn to the image.

Then, I sat back, and opened myself up to see what would come.

The first thing I saw was a small, white-washed cottage nestled in the deep snow. There was a tendril of smoke coming from the chimney, and all was quiet all around.

I could feel the cold and hear the crunch of snow beneath my feet. I smelled the wood smoke coming from the chimney.

I was alone.

I was Elena.

I/She was watching the cottage, closely, and I could feel her sadness. I/She was yearning for something there, inside.

Suddenly, I/she was running, being chased. Tried to run, but fell, tripped on an exposed tree root. I/she cried out, but there was no one there to hear. No one helped her.

And then.... she was .... cold. Gone.

But within that memory lay another one. A memory of Boris. Her man. I saw him carry her into the cottage in her arms, both of them happy and laughing. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and she kissed him as they entered.

Happier times.

Elena had been looking for Boris, hoping he was still at the cottage.

He wasn't.

It was 1917. Russia, outside Minsk, I think.

Elena was killed by Revolutionaries. Boris was in hiding from these same men.

She was searching for him.

Elena didn't realize she was dead. She has been searching for Boris all this time, camped out in front of that little cottage in the snow, getting colder and colder, and waiting for him to return.

I called my encounter last night a "psychic wrong number."

Elena was looking for Boris, but got me instead. I helped her come to understand that she had passed, and so had Boris, and that she needed to let go and accept it.

Some spirits have a hard time with the passing over. They don't quite understand how to do it.

Last night, I helped Elena make the transition.

And hopefully, once she did, she was reunited with Boris again.

Past Life Musings

I was cleaning this past week, and came across a poem I wrote in June of 2007, after I returned from one of my trips to Poland. As I reread the poem, a flood of memories and emotions flooded over me, and I was awash with psychic sensations that I had managed to "tuck away" for so long. So I figured it was time to write a post about this particular episode, and its significance for me.

I've written here, a little bit, about my past life experiences with Hana, the little girl who died in the gas chamber at Maidanek.

In 2007, I was preparing to go to Poland again, for a conference on the Holocaust. I had been having some Hana dreams, which was to be expected, since I was going to be immersed in the history of the Holocaust on my trip.

What I was not prepared for, however, was a series of OTHER dreams, very vivid and haunting, that would connect me to a different past life.

In these dreams, I was a young man, with fair hair and a light beard, dressed in tights and a tunic, with a sword at my side. I/He was searching desperately in the depths of a castle - A building I knew with all of my heart, but also had never physically seen before. These vivid images came to me repeatedly in the two weeks before my trip.



Staunchly, I put them out of my mind (well, at least I ignored them), and prepared for my trip to the camps. I spent 2 weeks in Poland, in a very emotional, turbulent tour of four of the former Nazi killing centers. I felt Hana over and over again. I was overcome by these Holocaust images and memories.





And yet, it did not stop there. We returned to Krakow, and I had a free day before I was to return home. So, I spent it as a "normal" tourist, and decided to visit Wawel Castle.

THIS I felt I could handle. This was normal history, revolving around power and glory and land. So I walked to the castle from my hotel, and set out to tour it.

Before I even entered the gates, however, I realized that I knew this place. I knew it in a way that was beyond the realm of the everyday. Though I had never physically been to this castle before, and did not know its history, as I walked in the gates, I KNEW it.



Sensations began to overtake me. I heard voices and saw images. I was transported in time and became part of the earlier events.

I found my way to a bench in the courtyard, out of the way, so that I could record these sensations and try to make some sense of them. I made notes in my journal, and sat, still, listening and absorbing, for almost an hour.

Then I got up and walked around the castle. And I came to a tower, and a wall, that hit me like a ton of bricks (sorry, no pun intended there). And I knew that this was the place from my dreams, and suddenly I knew what had transpired in this place.

When I returned home, I penned the following poem, born out of the images I saw at the castle.

Castle Siege, 1267
6-23-07

Amidst chaos and confusion,
My soul struck out,
Searching,
Penetrating the dark bowels of the tower.
Iron keys dangled from my hand,
their metallic taste
Lingering in my mouth
From the moment I clamped them there
To free my hands.
Darkness swallowed the hall,
The doorways blacker holes
in the sea of pitch.
A faint torchlight glowed
in the distance,
And I made my way
to its timid embers.
Voices bellowed,
Men, women, and children cried out,
Bodies rushed in panic on the levels above.
I smelled charred wood and stone,
felt the rush of heat
from the flames that licked
the roof of the cathedral,
sending its tendrils
even down here, below ground,
in all its fury.
The siege is on,
Today men will die in defending our honor,
and I must make my way to you,
My love,
to be reunited,
even if it be in death.

Ringo Starr, Rants, and Raves.....

Last night we went to see Ringo Starr and his All-Starr Band in Cleveland at the Nautica Pavilion.

The music was AWESOME.

Ringo just turned 70 years old this year. SEVENTY. On stage, he looked FORTY. He was beyond amazing.

He played most of my favorite Ringo tunes (including Honey Don't - my all-time favorite Ringo song!) And I had a great time with the music.

His All-Starr Band is made up of names from other hit groups, and each player gets a feature to do his own stuff. I was pleasantly surprised by these others (we didn't know who they were til we got there).

The band included Rick Derringer (the McCoys), Wally Palmar (The Romantics), Edgar Winter (White Trash), Gary Wright (known for "Dream Weaver"), Richard Page (Mr. Mister), and Gregg Bissonette.

They played, among many other songs, "Hang on, Sloopy," "Kyrie," "Dream Weaver," and of course "I Get By With a Little Help from my Friends."

As I mentioned above, the music was IM-PRESSIVE. Song after song, they had us all singing along, clapping our hands, and loving every minute of it.


(Dave and me outside the Pavilion before the concert)


(My husband, Dave, however, ever the ultimate Beatles fan, said "Not enough Ringo songs." LOL)

It was a great celebration of music. So much for my rave.

Now on to my rant.

I HATED Nautica Pavilion.

It's not really that large a venue, so you would think it would not be hard to manage. I guess Cleveland doesn't have much experience there. (You'd think they would, being the home of the Rock and Roll museum....) Although, we have been to several concerts at the Wolstein Center and at the Quicken Loans Arena, and they were handled BEAUTIFULLY!

The staff seemed to have absolutely no clue about their own arena. Three different ushers stood at the BOTTOM of the bleachers and told us "your seats are up there, on the right." (they were actually to the left) I watched ushers over and over ask "what seat are you sitting in?" They were totally clueless.

This meant that many people wound up sitting in the wrong seats, in a sell-out crowd, and so they would have to move when the real ticket-holders got there. The bleachers are so narrow that it is virtually impossible to simply stand up to let people pass by. It was a comedy of errors, truly.

And the bleacher seats were so small, I was sitting with my arms hunched in my lap all night. Hard to move to the music when you're that close together. And the music made me want to MOVE. How can you not move when you listen to these songs?

We also bought bottled soft drinks during the show, and were told that they could not give us the bottle caps. I thought this was particularly odd, and had wanted a bottle versus a cup so that I could reseal it and be sure not to spill any during the concert.

So I asked WHY she couldn't give us the bottle caps. Her reply? "So you can't throw the bottle caps on the stage during the show." WHAT? What kind of crazy-ass concerts do they have at this venue that people throw bottle caps at the stage? Now, I admit, my concert attendance is limited, and I have been to far more classical concerts than pop or rock ones, but still. Has our society degraded THAT far that we show our appreciation for artists by pelting them with plastic? I was appalled.

So, in summary, last night was a mixed bag. I absolutely LOVED the music, but HATED the venue. I guess it's a good lesson for us for the future. And if you're thinking about buying tickets for a concert at the Nautica, let this serve as fair warning to you!



But hey, I can only hope I look HALF as good at 70 as Ringo Starr does.

Rock on, Ringo!

The Lessons of Las Vegas and LOVE

We just returned from a short trip to Las Vegas.

Let me start by saying I never thought I'd like it. I hate crowds and noise, I'm not great in heat, and I find gambling boring.

What was I going to do in Vegas? For four and a half days? In temperatures soaring well about 100 degrees Fahrenheit?

But this was our anniversary trip, and we were going to Vegas, specifically, to see the Cirque du Soleil LOVE show, based on the music of the Beatles. My husband, Dave, is probably the biggest Beatles fan who ever took a breath. (you think I'm kidding...) So, I pinned on a huge smile, said "That sounds great, honey!" and away we went.

Meanwhile, I was searching for other things to do while we were there. Things that didn't involve the glitz and glamour of the strip.

And I found myself actually enjoying our trip to the land of Sex, Sin, and Vice. The city that never sleeps (though we did, quite a bit).

The best part of our trip was, beyond a doubt, the LOVE show, which was BEYOND amazing. We had had a number of people tell us it was great and that we had to see it. So I was expecting great music (hello? The BEATLES? Could it be bad?) and maybe some cool artistic tricks along the way.

I was in no way prepared for the experience we had.

I was.... utterly speechless.

And for me, who prides herself on being able to choose just the right words, being speechless is a rareity.

From the first moment the lights dimmed and the action began, my jaw dropped and stayed that way until about 2/3 of the way through the show. I finally had to close it so I could recover.

Tears formed in my eyes, and were there until the finale.

I had no idea which way to look at any given moment. I was overcome by the emotion and beauty of the work. I was simply awestruck by the abilities and fluidity of the players in the show. To call them "dancers" or mere "acrobats" does not do them justice in any sense of the word. They moved their bodies like no one I have ever seen before. It was beautiful, and was expertly choreographed to the songs of the Beatles.

The most beautifully choreographed piece was "Octopus' Garden," during which they had about a dozen different acrobats and puppets flying through the air, as if they were floating through the depths of the ocean. It was breathtaking.

The show as a whole served as a sort of chronicle of the Liverpool Boys who would become the Beatles. It highlighted their rise to fame, and showcased the most famous characters from their songs. Both highs and lows in their lives were represented, perhaps the most poignant moment being the death of Lennon's mother, to the tune "Hey, Jude."

We laughed, we cried, we were embraced by the work.

We had not known what to expect when we saw the show, but we walked out of the theater with our hearts blown wide open and ready to get back in line to see the second show. That experience will stay with us for a long, long time to come.





Of course, it was made more special because it was our anniversary celebration, too. We were all dressed up, and had excellent seats. And halfway through the show, the cast came out into the audience, and one of them stopped in front of me, took my hand, called me "beautiful lady with the beautiful smile" and kissed my hand. Now THAT was amazing!

The show was well worth fighting the crowds, noise, and decadence of Vegas. I would even go back to Vegas, just to see LOVE a second time.

The immortal words of the Beatles were certainly true for us, in regards to our Vegas trip.... "all you need is LOVE, LOVE, LOVE is all you need." For us, to make it a perfect trip, all we needed were those perfect seats to the perfect show, LOVE.

Cycles and Reflections

I've been thinking a great deal about cycles lately.

Life cycles, of birth and death.

Seasonal cycles, especially today on the Summer Solstice.

Monthly cycles like those of the moon, or our own personal cycles.

I've been musing of late over what they all mean to us, in the bigger picture.

Some cycles are more difficult to take than others. Death, for example, often strikes us very hard at our core. We mourn the physical loss of our loved ones, and regret their absence in our daily lives. It is often difficult to remember that they live on in spirit and in our hearts, when we have had the privilege to experience their three-dimensional presence in our lives.

Other cyclical changes remind us of our passing through the greater life cycle, and hint at our inevitable demise at the end of our own cycles. The aging process is not always subtle nor kind. Yet, in these cyclical changes we also should remember that there is wisdom and honor with each new phase.





Of course, we most often glory in the beginnings of cycles: birth, spring, the starting anew. We should remember, however, that there can be no beginning without ending. The cycle can continue only because it ends and is renewed.

Our lives are a continual pattern of cycles, of ups and downs, of heights and depths, through which we traverse and make our way through this world. And it is the combination of these highs and lows, beginnings and endings, that make our lives so glorious.

For each cycle that passes, a new one begins, and with that new cycle comes new wonderment, new knowledge, and new experiences. All of which would not be possible without the passing of the former cycle.

So, today, on this Summer Solstice, let us say goodbye to Spring and thank her for all she gave us, while also welcoming the new season into our lives, in anticipation for all she will share with us over the coming months.

And remember, cycles are what keep us going. Even the life and death cycle. If we embrace the natural flow of life, including her cycles, we will be rewarded with rich and wonderful experiences that will fill our souls.

The power of water....

(the beach on Marco Island, after a storm, with the waves a bit wilder than normal)

I have written here and here on this blog about the fact that my element is water, and that it is a pretty powerful tool for me in tuning into my own personal energies.

Today's post, though, goes beyond the power of water as my personal element, and addresses the greater power of water, and nature in general.

I have long agreed with the Romantic poets and artists, who sought to teach us that we should be in harmony with, not in control of, nature's forces. It is the fool who thinks that he can take on Nature's fury and win.

I'm being reminded of that lesson yet again, as we are in our third week of efforts to fix a leak in our basement. Turns out, it is ground water, seeping in through the foundation wall. Well, seeping is a misnomer, because when it rains, the water pours in like a siphon.

We have no idea what the real source of the groundwater is. The topsoil source could be a half mile away somewhere. We'll never know.

So we are reduced to fixing the leak INSIDE the house.

But this post isn't about our construction issues. It's about the power of water.

Water will always find the path of least resistance, and water is one of the most ferocious damaging hands of Mother Nature.

Just think about the recent headlines: Flash floods tore through a campground, killing at least 18 and wounding dozens others. Tropical storms and hurricanes in Latin America left huge sinkholes in their wake. And even the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico (a huge political black hole that I do not wish to address at the moment) is being exacerbated by the forces of the tides and streams of the water itself.

Let us not be fooled. No matter how calm and placid the water may appear on those calm, sunny days, it always holds the power to destroy. IF we do not respect it.

Therein lies the true beauty of nature. To be held delicately in her hand, caressed by the sun and gentle winds, or even to be tickled by gentle waves at the shores of her waters, while knowing that at any moment she could destroy us with a gentle flick of her wrist - THIS is the tantalizing allure of Nature.

And that, truly, is the source of water's power for me personally. To know that even as it washes over me and purifies and invigorates me, it could also snuff out my energy altogether, leaves me exhilarated. It creates in me the deepest sense of respect, and leads to heightened awareness, not just of the water but of the world around me.

What will you respect today?

Renovations and Restorations

We had a water leak here at the condo, and as a result, we are doing some renovation work in our basement entertainment room. While the leak and the damage were frustrating, I'm finding it invigorating to do the renovation. The hard stuff (dry wall, pouring a concrete pad upstairs) we contracted out, but I'm doing the painting of the room myself.

Yesterday, I finished the first wall. That was the hardest wall, painting around lots of shelves and edges and small spots. It took me about 3 hours to do that single wall.

Of course, I got (unwanted) input about the process from all sides, telling me the "best" way to approach the task.

But as I made progress along the wall, and saw the new, clean shine of the paint appear (it's essentially the same color as the old paint), I felt a huge sense of satisfaction.

Sometimes, we need to renovate.

As I wrote about here, we do periodically need to clean house, figuratively and literally.

We need to mend the broken pieces, deep clean the carpeting, touch up the paint job, top it off with new throw pillows and an area rug.

And when we have finished that project, we can rejoice in the clean, crisp results that make us smile and feel joy.



(This was the Renova Spa at our resort in Jamaica, where we went for our honeymoon last year)

And just as we need to do periodic physical renovations of our surroundings, sometimes we need to do some personal renovations as well.

The Spa, I believe, was aptly named. RENOVA. A place to renovate the self.

And I have been doing this type of renovations lately, as well. I returned to swimming, after a long hiatus, and found it to be completely rejuvenating and restorative.

I trimmed the anxieties and stress from my life, making some conscious decisions about just where and how I would be exerting my (admittedly limited) energies.

I have begun to revel in the many, many blessings that surround me on a daily basis.

I have rebuilt the house of myself, brick by brick, new paint job (in my brightly painted nails, that I talked about here), new exercise program, new attitude, and overall new sense of joy and happiness.

Life is good, oh so good, once you take the time to do the renovations.

How will you renovate this week?

Our elemental needs ...

Each of us is composed of four essential elements: water, fire, earth, and air. Our astrological signs also determine our primary and secondary elements. For instance, as Pisces, I have water as my primary element, and air as my secondary element. Earth and fire fall to positions of lesser importance for my entity.

My husband, Dave, on the other hand, a Scorpio, is an Earth element, followed by water. That's why my totem is a frog (water and air) and Dave's is a turtle (earth and water).





Although I have understood the concept of our primary and secondary elements for some time now, and always knew that I loved water, for example, it was not until very recently that I realized just how fundamental these elemental needs are to our very existence and our internal balance.


I wrote here about my rediscovery of swimming as a form of exercise, after a frustrating experience with Yogadance. As I mentioned in that blog, when I began the Yogadance class I was excited and energized at the thought of getting moving again. I thought it would be good for me. And yet, as the months passed, it was taking a toll on my body. And I couldn't figure out why. I figured, exercise was exercise. It had to be good for me!



And then the light went on.

Yogadance was not working for me, because it is an EARTH-based form of exercise. EARTH.

I need WATER.

I need to feel as if I am floating through life, immersed in its life-giving fluids, propelling me on. I am the dolphin, kicking and playing through the waters of life, frolicking in the depths and then bursting through the surface to take on air and submerge once more.

That is why earth-bound forms of exercise don't work for me. Aerobics, YogaDance, the treadmill, all seem to have me dragging my feet, as if mired in the mud. For after all, what happens when you add water to earth? You get mud.


And while mud can be useful for some ventures - for creating foundation bricks for example, which is why Dave and I work so well together - it does not suit exercise or vitality.



The air element is best suited for outdoor activities, especially those that get off the ground. They get into rock climbing, bungee jumping, sky diving, anything that gets AIR into their lungs and all around them. They are the thrill seekers.

The poor fire elements have it most difficult. There are very few forms of exercise that entail fire. Firewalking? This is most challenging for those of fire. My closest friend is a fire element, and she would concur. They have to stoke their fires in other, less direct ways.

For me, as a water element, the water not only sustains my body, but it clarifies my mind. When I swim, I find a new acuity that opens me wide to the world around me. It's as if a blindfold is removed, that had filtered out all but a tiny stream of light in my daily life.

So, this frog will continue her water-based exercise patterns, healing and rejuvenating all the way.

And she will leave the earth-bound forms to those who are better suited to them. Oh, and if you earthies out there what to try my pool, be sure you don't leave any mud behind!

A baptism, or I FINALLY listened to myself instead of everyone else giving me advice

This morning, I experienced what I might call a baptism in my new approach to life. Big changes have been coming for a while now, and I knew they were going to happen, I just didn't know when.

The other day, I took the leap and began to make those important changes.

I wrote here about my love of the water and how it purifies me, beyond the physical exercise of it. I vowed then, back in March, that I would return to swimming.

Yet, when I returned to the "real world," somehow that vow slipped away from me. I got distracted.

In January, I started taking a Yogadance class, mainly because it was being taught by a friend as a new venture, and I wanted to support her, and I thought it would be good to move. And I stuck with that class for months.

I thought is was good for me. The music was fun. I was exercising. How can that be bad?

But gradually my back, knees, and ankles were becoming worse. My arthritis was kicking up. I was in constant pain. I came home from every class exhausted and wanting only to sleep. My mind shut down. Yet, like a robot, I kept going to class.

Now, please, understand. I am not saying that Yogadance is no good. Far from it. Everyone has different needs. And watching the other women in that room, I know that it was good for some of them.

It just isn't good for me.

And this morning, for the first time in nine months, I returned to the Y to swim.

It was beyond amazing.

After a nine month hiatus from swimming, I plunged in and swam thirty laps. THIRTY. That is what I was doing when I was in my peak swimming routine a couple of years ago.

And when I emerged from the water, my brain was on fire with electricity, and my back and joints felt better than they have in years.

I have come home.

Home to my beautiful, life-giving water.

And I plan to return to those waters regularly, probably four times a week all summer long, to drink from their spring of energy, and replenish all that life saps away.

I am reborn.

Taking stock and cleaning house

(this is the view from our deck)

Yesterday, I spent several hours sitting on our deck, reading and doing a lot of thinking about things in general. I was taking stock of my life and what I needed versus what I was getting and doing.

And I realized that my life was cluttered, and was demanding way too much energy for non-essential things.

So, I decided to clean house.

Both literally (I cleaned the windows so they sparkled!) and figuratively.

I decided I needed to cut loose some of the things that have been sapping my energy and wrapping me up in unnecessary drama, and to re-order my life so that I was focusing my energy more wisely.

This is something that has been building, and coming for some time now. I wrote about it here, when I talked about de-choring my life and re-treating it. I realized that I was letting obligations get in the way of my own health. And I was so involved in listening to other people that I lost sight of what I was telling myself.

I made some conscious decisions yesterday about exactly what I needed to cut out or reduce in my life, and what I needed to retain. And I felled the axe. More cuts are coming, eventually. And some additions, to be sure. Healthy additions.

And tomorrow, I am starting my swim routine again.

I know, I know. I've been saying this for months.

But this time, I have made the necessary changes that will let that happen. My swim bag is packed and ready for me! And I need the water.

After all, I'm a fish!

And I need a new routine. One that is geared to my own personal schedule, and not tied to those around me.

So, today marks the beginning of a new era. A fresh start. A clean house, both inside and out.

Just in time. And we have a great, fun, and exciting weekend planned!

What will you do to clean house this week?

Midnight Musings ... a poem of sorts

Midnight Musings
5-24-10

Deep into the night,
my thoughts went racing,
venturing in directions too dangerous for the light of day.
The symbols of my dreams
danced through my waking mind,
playing games as I tried to decipher their cryptic meanings.

Past, present, and future merged,
as the mist descended upon my mind,
enfolding me with
its dark, damp tendrils,
pulling me deeper and deeper
into the almost trancelike investigation of its turnings.

My breath slowed and grew heavy,
and my senses began to detect things from other realms.
A cat’s plaintive meow, the ringing of a telephone,
the shadow of a man.
All of these images came together urgently,
trying to reveal some great truth to my stubborn and resistant mind.

It lay just beyond my grasp,
tormenting me,
teasing me with the promise of some incredible reality
that remained just out of touch.
The intensity of the thought brought a pounding to my head,
and an aching to my face and jaw.

It was almost as if the images
were beating me upon the head
to try to draw my attention to something
powerful and marvelous,
that they believed should be painfully obvious,
yet remained cloaked in mystery.

And so I finally gave in to restless sleep, full of dreams now forgotten,
and tortured with symbolism that remained locked.
As I lay in the bed the morning after, pondering the events of the night before,
I feel like a codebreaker, listening in on the enemy’s communications,
just waiting for that moment when it would all be revealed. And the tap, tap, tapping goes on in my head, constantly poking at me, reminding me not to forget that it is there.

Letting go....

Let me preface this by saying that today's blog post is all about me. If other people can take something away from it, then that would be wonderful, but this post is truly just about my own reflectiveness at this point.

Ok, caveat laid out.

If you have been following my blog, then you know that it has been a rather difficult year for me. I have been struggling to find direction and meaning in the wake of those rather unsettling events.

I have turned to to Osho Zen Meditation Tarot deck, among other sources, to find guidance.

My dreams have been deep, vivid, and frought with symbolism.

I have asked for advice from friends and loved ones.

And I keep coming back to one phrase: Let it go.

For we can not control what happens to us, but we can control how we react.

Let me repeat that.

We can not control what happens to us, but we can control how we react.

The universe, it seems, has a rather wicked and twisted sense of humor. It often throws curves at us that we do not expect.

Some of them are quite unintentioned, to be sure.

Others, more premeditated.

But the results are the same. They leave us feeling betrayed, beaten, exposed, robbed.

I spent the weekend doing a lot of very deep thinking. So deep, in fact, it made my brain hurt.

And I realized that it is time to let go of all of the crap that I have been letting get to me.

Job crap.

Personal crap.

Even world crap.

And I am determined to focus on being the best person I can be, doing what I believe to be right and good, while holding onto my own standards. I never set out to undermine anyone or to harm them. In fact, the truth is quite the opposite.

Sure, other people may get in my way. They may try to steal my thunder. They may misinterpret my intentions or my responses. They may even think I'm wrong.

But that's ok.

Because I'm letting it go.

Something bigger, better, and wonderful is out there, just waiting for me. I know that. I just have to let all this baggage go that is weighing me down, and I'll reach it.

Then, I can fly. Like I used to do on the swings at the playground, when I let go of the chains as I reached the peak of the swing arc.

Let go with me, and let's fly together.

More Holocaust poetry

(This image is of the entry gates at the camp at Dachau, outside of Munich, Germany)

The end of May always evokes memories for me, memories of my trips to the various concentration and death camps used by the Nazis in their plan to eradicate all non-Aryans in their domain.

I have written about some of my experiences at these camps, here, here, and here, and I suggested that these were very powerful, almost overwhelming, encounters with not just the physical reminders of the horrors, but the spiritual remains of the victims as well.

These intense interactions at the various camps left indelible marks on my soul, and impelled me to share them with others, through poetry and images.

In particular, one visit, to Dachau in May 2008, was full of psychic engagement. I spent my time walking the camp. Almost immediately, I was channeling things.

The first thing I heard was loud shouting, crying "Schnell! Schnell!" over and over again.

I also heard moaning and crying and the sounds of soup bowls.

A little later on my walk, I felt someone ill, with dysentery or pneumonia perhaps, shivering beneath a thin blanket, too weak to do more than just moan softly.

I also kept hearing the rhythmic crunching of the shoes on gravel - the repetitive, uniform sound of marching.

And I picked up two stones from the ground, which oddly enough refused to warm up in my hands. They were cold, like the death they represented.

These stones, which I keep in a bowl next to my desk, remain cold, even today, even on the warmest of summer days. They are tainted with the powers of death and destruction. They carry that stamp with them.

After this most powerful trip, I wrote the following two poems, both of which capture at least part of what I experienced that day.

They are dedicated to those who perished at the hands of the Nazis, under the guise of creating a "better world."



(Memorial at the camp at Dachau, an image of twisted bodies, trapped in barbed wire)

A Faustian Bargain

The muselman emerges
as artistic muse,
the product of Nazis,
the collection of dues.

From skeletal frames
their life's blood will ooze
as for diabolical aims
their demons abuse.





(These are my Dachau stones, picked up there in May 2008)

Dachau, May 2008

A pair of weathered stones,
cold as death,
freeze their imprint
upon my palm.

The crunch of gravelled steps,
rhythmic, sharp,
cut their way deep
into my calm.

Voices from the tortured past,
echo loud,
resonating deeply
within my head.

Visions of suffering and pain
flicker on,
projecting facelessly
the fates of the dead.

TRUST: Today's Osho Lesson

Today was one of the graduation ceremonies for our students. It was rainy and miserable. And we had to process through the rain.

As I stood there, umbrella in hand, watching it pour and waiting to venture forth into the deluge, I thought about how appropriate it was.

You see, this could very well be the last graduation I attend as a faculty member.

And I thought, "Life is spitting on me."

And I worried that the rain would ruin my academic regalia - not an inexpensive set, I might add. And the next instant I thought, "So what? When will I wear it again? And isn't this a fitting end?"

I was, quite obviously, feeling sorry for myself.

I was being Whiny. Self-centered. And I was most definitely Stuck.

And then we walked through the downpour across campus and took our places for the ceremony, and my attention shifted to those wonderful, miraculous people who had worked hard, sacrificed, and persevered to earn their degrees today.

Several, in particular, made me a bit teary.

The single mother of two, including a special needs daughter, who scrimped and saved to go to school full time, while also raising her children and volunteering, in order to make a better life for her family.

The visually impaired student, who wore more honor cords than I knew existed, and who EVERYONE in the school know because of his academic skills as well as his strong sense of spirit and direction.

And the nun from Africa, soft spoken, demure, devoted, who worked diligently and produced excellent work in all her coursework, not for the high grades she earned, but for the knowledge it gave her.

And I felt proud that I could be some small part of each of their journeys. And it made me feel just a bit guilty about my own selfish attitude earlier.

Then I came home, through the rain, still thinking about those students, and my own life, and I drew a single Osho card to meditate.

It was the TRUST card.

Here's the accompanying text. It reads:

"Now is the moment to be a bungee jumper without the cord! And it is the quality of absolute trust, with no reservations or secret safety nets, that the Knight of Water demands from us. There is a tremendous sense of exhilaration if we can take the jump and move into the unknown, even if the idea scares us to death. And when we take trust to the level of the quantum leap, we don't make any elaborate plans or preparations. We don't say, "Okay, I trust that I know what to do now, and I'll settle my things and pack my suitcase and take it with me." No, we just jump, with hardly a thought for what happens next. The leap is the thing, and the thrill of it as we free-fall through the empty sky. The card gives a hint here, though, about what waits for us at the other end -- a soft, welcoming, yummy pink, rose petals, juicy...c'mon!"

What an amazing lesson for today, graduation day. For this is not just graduation day for the students, who are leaving their alma mater behind; it is also graduation day for me, as I let go of the difficulties that have plagued me this year and embrace fully whatever is to come.

And as I drew this card, and began to contemplate its meaning for me, the sky has cleared, revealing sunshine for the first time today.

I guess the universe is trying to get my attention.

I'd better take heed.

Re-treating into the ordinary

I wrote here about my need to find ways to refocus my life, to de-chore and re-treat it in small ways. Today the weather was beautiful, after a string of not so nice (at times ugly) Spring weather, so this afternoon I decided to take advantage of it and do some things outdoors.

First, I spent time weeding and cleaning up our rock garden off our lower patio. It was full of weeds - a job that really is for our yard crew to do, but which has not been done conscientiously in recent years. So, I lovingly pulled out the weeds and tended our lilies and other plants under the gaze of the afternoon sun.

It felt good to put on my gloves and dig in the rocks and dirt.

I worked slowly, methodically, with no deadline or pressure to hurry me.

And I quit when my back began to ache.

And I looked at the results of my efforts, and took pride in the beauty I had created.

Then, I picked up my book (the novel Mysterious Island, by Jules Verne) and headed up to our deck, and spent an indulgent hour reading in the sun. I sat with the rays beating on my back, penetrating the black of my t-shirt, and heating the very core of my being.

I could feel the sun recharging me. Earth and Fire had both lent me their power.

It was quiet, peaceful, and I sat listening to the chatter of the sparrows and the occasional bark of a dog or the engine of a passing car. The world was mine and mine alone for that hour.

Today was a day of ordinariness. I did nothing fantastic, nothing remarkable. I just was.

It was good.

And then, tonight, I drew a card from my beautiful Osho Zen Tarot Meditation deck. Now, recently, I have written about how amazing this deck is, and how absolutely spot-on it has been every time I have turned to it.

So, I should not have been surprised tonight.

I drew the Ordinariness card.

Here's the accompanying description:

"This figure walking in nature shows us that beauty can be found in the simple, ordinary things of life. We so easily take this beautiful world we live in for granted. Cleaning the house, tending the garden, cooking a meal - the most mundane tasks take on a sacred quality when they are performed with your total involvement, with love, and for their own sake, without thought of recognition or reward. You are facing a time now when this easy, natural and utterly ordinary approach to the situations you encounter will bring far better results than any attempt on your part to be brilliant, clever, or otherwise extra-ordinary. Forget all about making headlines by inventing the latest widget, or dazzling your friends and colleagues with your unique star quality. The special gift you have to offer now is presented best by just taking things easily and simply, one step at a time."

Wow.

I had to stop and think about this description for a bit.

I thought about how I have struggled so desperately with the book writing project this Spring, striving to produce something dazzling to show my colleagues, and not having great success.

I thought about my efforts to prove to people that I deserve better than the treatment I received this year at the hands of my institution.

I thought about how hard it has been to envision a future path that does not include teaching.

But this card has reminded me, as the other recent cards have, that it is time to change my perceptions.

It is time to be patient and ordinary.

It is time to tend my gardens, both figuratively and literally.

And in doing so, my true self will emerge, stronger, better, and brighter.

Another Holocaust Poem

This morning, I got up and was feeling pretty good, despite everything. I had some physical aches and pains, but I was facing them pretty optimistically. My mood was not bad, all things considered.

I came into school, determined to be productive and positive.

And then, while I sat at my desk, a tremendous BLACK wave descended upon me, almost smothering me in its intensity. I felt isolated, hopeless, devastated.

And I took a deep breath and asked who I was feeling.

Because it wasn't me.

Not today.

I felt a tremendous need to overcome this wave of darkness. So I pulled out the only available music in my office, which happened to be a cd of Piano Klezmer Music by Leslaw Lic.

And I popped in the cd, and began to listen. I focused on the notes, trying to push aside the black blanket that smothered me.

And I opened Word, and began to write.

Here is what emerged. It's pretty obvious that the sensations I was feeling were from a Holocaust victim.

So, here's my tribute to her.


Our last refrain
5-19-10

Where has the past gone?
Who has stolen it away?
When our lives were free and gay?
What have we done wrong?

Once we were carefree
Living our lives in peace
In an instant, that would cease
And we would have to flee.

The bark of dogs and guns
Chasing us into the woods
Blindly tearing at our goods
Not knowing who it was who runs.

Far from the home I love,
Our belongings cast aside
With nowhere here to hide
Behind, below, or above.

Even as I flee in fear
Fragments of that song remain
The haunting last refrain
Lingering in my ear.

Reminders, Retreats, and Reaffirmations

I have been writing lately about trying to figure out where I'm headed, and what I need to do to get there. I have been so focused on the material side (ie: getting a new job), that I have tended to neglect the more basic, psychological and spiritual side of my path.

A good friend of mine has been trying to do an at-home "retreat" lately, as she wrote about here. That gave me pause for thought.

A retreat.

What does that mean, exactly? From what or to what should I be withdrawing? What would be the purpose of such a thing?

And then I approached the word again. Not a "retreat", but a "re-treat." As in, treating myself. As in doing something just for me, not for anyone else. This is a very novel and difficult idea for me, I must say.

And I realized that even the things that I THOUGHT I was doing for myself, have actually become about other people somewhere along the way.

I tend to do that, unfortunately. I lose myself in giving to others, or taking care of them, or doing things to help them. And along the way, I stop paying attention to me.

So this weekend, I decided to do something about that.

I took a "re-treat."

On Saturday, I took a long, decadent nap with my husband and pets, neglecting the long list of chores and activities that I SHOULD have been doing. Saturday night, we went out for pizza and wings, and I ate until I felt I would burst. And I enjoyed every bite.

I picked up a novel and started reading just because I wanted to do it. I am reading Jules Verne's Mysterious Island - a wonderful tale, full of mystery and adventure.

And yesterday, I painted my nails, for the first time in almost a YEAR. I took my time, first filing and smoothing them, and carefully choosing a color (from the bag of about 40 bottles that I own), and then painting not just my toe nails (it is sandals time, after all) but also my fingernails.

Now THIS I see as truly decadent, since polish lasts less than a week on my hands before I have it chipped and messy. But that hour (or less, I wasn't counting) that I spent on myself yesterday had a marvelous effect. It made me feel pampered, beautiful, and important.

And I realized that my life has become a long list of chores that I perform for other people. Some chores are more enjoyable that others, of course, like the chore of feeding my husband (I love to cook), but they are chores none the less. They are expected and routine actions that I am forced to perform on a regular basis.

And I made a conscious decision to de-chore and re-treat my life. Starting with a long snuggle on the (unmade) bed with my kitten and puppy.

Oh, and the painted nails? I think they're staying.....