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i had lost myself a bit.

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until i remembered the knowing

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the universe has my best interests

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and, the only time is creation’s time

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which is just * now

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Love first, everything else second

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Comments (0) Feb 03 2012

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Over time, your appreciation for the question will become equivalent to your appreciation for the answer, and your appreciation for the problem will become equivalent to your appreciation for the solution. And in your newfound ease with what-is, you will find yourself in the state of allowing what you truly desire. And then, all manner of cooperative components will reveal themselves to you in a delicious co-creative dance of Deliberate Creation.

— Abraham

Excerpted from the Getting into the Vortex Guided Meditation CD and User Guide # 310

Our Love,
Jerry and Esther*

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http://www.philippebenichou.com/

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Comments (0) Jan 06 2012

The Bloomin Humans Peace Project:

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http://bloominghumans.com/

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i’ve been riding with these people for about 6 years now and bear witness to how they have created their world.

they are powerful magicians who’s mission is to show us step by step how we all are.

great and beautiful work.

a great big thank you !!

and much LOVE,

ing :)

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Comments (0) Aug 27 2011

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all of my life could be told by these five images.

it’s the pattern, the reoccurring process that resonates even more vividly from the last three years, whereby, for all intensive purposes, my life as it was known was completely destructed, disassembled, and disseminated from which the finer debris rebuilt a new form.

as a pluto girl i get death, the death that is necessary to the birth. it is true that having that understanding assisted me greatly in keeping my sanity through this time of intensive, every level, transformation, transmutation.

as i know the inviolable laws of the universe so too i knew my resurrection was the only conclusion possible and that it would be, as all true resurrections are,  glorious… making the heart sing and liberating my soul.

the restoration of my internal compass through the evolution of being has been my conscious locus for the last two decades the refinement of which will continue ad infinitum. but the specialness of now… is the arrival of a long hoped for and cherished birth… in amazement i watch as reality constructs this new form, a reflection of my essence, in outward manifestation.

in celebration i share the beauty and truth of this with you, my dear brothers and sisters, through this visual crumpet.*

i love you.

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bless,

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*a thick soft cake with a porous texture; cooked on a griddle

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Comments (0) Mar 28 2011

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WATERS OF LIFE

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Dream Seeds are Source Coded time-capsules,
ensuring activation takes place when the
essentials conditions are present to thrive.

Nestled in the Sacred Heart Space
now imbibing the Waters of Life,
our Dream Seeds are sparking to begin
their journey of awakening!

Water, the First Spirit of Life, baptizes
and sanctifies the body of our Dream.
Sacred and profound, our Seeds swelling cells
break through former boundaries
as we Birth New Reality.

Just for today …

As you drink the Waters of Life, imagine
your Dream Seed being baptized, the
Holy Spirit flowing through the hull of the
body to fill every cell within.

In Gratitude, feel the flow of Spirit moving
through … awakening, catalyzing and charging
your Dream Seed with the energies of Life.

Allow this energetic blessing to flow through
and beyond YOU, Uniting All the waters
on Changing Mothers.  Feel the At-One-Meant,
and offer a prayer of Gratitude for the
Spirit of Life that enlivens and connects us ALL.

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Blooming Humans are WE!

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Maintaining sufficient daily intake of pure water is vital for our bodies, and our Dream Seeds, to thrive.  Here is a simple formula for ensuring proper hydration of the body:

Divide your body weight in half. This figure is an approximate number of ounces of water to drink each day.  For instance, if you weigh 150 lbs, then 75 ounces is what you want to drink to stay hydrated.

Giving thanks for the waters we receive will energize our bodies, and our Dream Seeds.  This assists our ability to stay in the flow, as we experience the rapid growth that comes with Birthing New Reality!

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We call upon the waters that rim the earth, horizon to
horizon, that flow in our rivers and streams, that fall
upon our gardens and fields, and we ask that they teach
us and show us the way.- Chinook Indian Blessing

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‘APA, The Grand Mystery of Water’ is a wonderful film, revealing the intelligence, power and Spirit of water.  You can watch and enjoy it here:

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Go Gratitude, 1849 e.Guadalupe rd, #c101-181, Tempe, Arizona 85283, USA

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Comments (0) Mar 15 2011

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remember that coming out ahead is less important than turning every moment into another chapter in your journey of self-discovery.

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Comments (0) Mar 14 2011

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how about reading a little magic story while sipping your tea? one of those that when finished you’re you’re really glad you did  :)

i

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i leaned on the tree, julia kay

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Tree of the Art of the Mind

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–Tom Weidlinger

For several months I had been anticipating a meeting with Dorothy, my benefactress, in which I would present a funding proposal for a new project. Dorothy’s family foundation had been supporting my work for nine years. I’d made six films with her sole support-a wonderful circumstance, compared to my pre-benefactress decades when I spent as much time raising money for films as I did actually making them. Though I worked hard and did my best to be worthy of this munificence, I sometimes felt guilty about my good fortune. But not so guilty as to prevent me from presenting the proposal for film number seven.

Usually I talked with Alex, the foundation director who is my de facto boss, though he gives me complete freedom to make each film the way I want once the topic is approved. The last time I spoke with Dorothy was three years ago. In her mid-eighties, she was almost deaf and increasingly erratic. Alex told me she had changed. He suggested that I write a proposal for a multi-year project. Once approved, it would not depend on Dorothy’s continued possession of her mental faculties. This, most likely, would be the final plum.

I was extremely anxious about this meeting. I was not ready to accept, quite yet, that this good thing could come to an end. I worried that I was too soft to go back to the nail-biting uncertainty of being a freelance, independent filmmaker. And the competition is so very young these days. I was determined to get my idea for the new project across to Dorothy, despite her hearing difficulties. I brought my laptop to our meeting and typed on the screen in a very large letters: IT’S IMPORTANT THAT YOU BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND ME. WOULD IT HELP IF I TYPED WHAT I WAS SAYING?

Dorothy consented with a smile and a faint nod. I began typing and speaking very loudly and slowly at the same time, telling Dorothy about an award that one of our films had just won. She clapped her hands girlishly and said: “You are angels! I think you should all have halos!” Dorothy’s son chimed in and suggested he might find some at a local costume shop.

I continued typing, starting to describe my proposal for the new project. Suddenly Dorothy looked at me and asked, almost apologetically: “How much do you cost?” I was flustered. Was she asking me about the fee her foundation paid me or was she asking about the budget of the new project? I tried to make light of it, typing out that I was a bargain–the producer, director, writer and editor–all for one salary. “But how much do you cost?” she asked again.

I looked to Alex for guidance. He shrugged. So I launched into a rational for the cost of my proposed project. I didn’t get very far. Dorothy stopped me again. “Who are you?” she asked.
I typed:  “I’m the guy who’s been making your films for the past nine years–the films funded by your foundation.”

“But what do you do?” Dorothy asked.
“Well,” I said, “I’m the filmmaker. I actually make the films.”
“Really?” Dorothy’s expression was half-quizzical, half-skeptical.

Both Alex and Dorothy’s son did their best to confirm that I was who I said I was. Gradually they realized that Dorothy thought I was a transcriber, hired to record the meeting. Recently she been presented with an exorbitant bill for just such a transcriber and was none too pleased.

I was horrified to discover that the woman who had been responsible for making possible a good quarter of my life’s creative output no longer knew who I was. Yet at the same time I felt strangely calm, even amused. The absurdity of pegging my hopes for my future on her seemed suddenly hilarious–like something out of a surreal play.

I thought maybe I was in a state of shock. Imagine falling from a great height. You land. The wind is knocked out of you. You are feeling no pain, but you know that in a moment, when you try to move, pain will come flooding in. The only solution is to remain very still. This is what I did, literally and metaphorically. That night I sat in front of the TV until my wife finally told me to go to bed. In the morning I did not want to get out from under the covers. But eventually I did.

I thought I would find solace in nature. I picked up a sandwich at a deli and headed for the hills above the UC Berkeley campus where a network of fire roads and trails winds up Strawberry Canyon. Lately I had been preparing for a summer trek in the Sierras by taking my weighted backpack with me. There is a steep stretch of trail, about a half a mile in, that I sometimes walk up and down several times. That day a work crew was weed-whacking the slope adjacent to it. To get away from the racket I just kept walking, going much farther up the trail and into the hills than I usually do.

I tried to keep my mind empty. Not to worry about what life might be like after Dorothy. I wasn’t very successful.

After about an hour I got to a ridge top that I’d never been on before. It was hot. I headed down the ridge, looking for a shady spot to eat my sandwich. I saw a large tree, standing alone, about one hundred yards off the edge of the trail. It had a great view: a vast swath of the East Bay stretching away to San Francisco with the Golden Gate in the distance. Not a bad place to be homeless, I thought.

I ate my sandwich and then looked up at the tree. For the first time I noticed what appeared to be bits of white rubbish scattered around its trunk and throughout its branches. Dismayed by this blight, I decided to collect the trash and put it in my pack. When I moved closer to the tree, I discovered that it wasn’t trash, but bits of canvas crudely stretched over small rectangles of plywood, some as small as playing cards, some as large as a magazine.

As far as I could see there was nothing on the canvases except patches of black and grey mold. Whatever had once been painted on the surfaces had apparently been eradicated by sun, rain, and wind. Then I moved closer and picked up the smallest canvas, leaning against the base of the tree trunk. There was something on it after all. Typed in tiny and now faded Courier letters was this inscription:

Welcome to the art of the mind

What a pathetic excuse for conceptual art. Obviously the “artist” who left this here would never get noticed in the real world, so he or she had to come here and litter the landscape with it. I picked up another canvas, resting in the “y” between two branches. It read:

I was put together but then I fell apart

Hmm, I thought. I know the feeling. I went on to the next mildewed board, resting sideways against a branch. It said:

Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
Not everything will be ok.
But something will.

Yikes! Suddenly I was feeling a certain kinship, a connection with this anonymous artist. These words were speaking to me. I picked up the next canvas.

What are you doing with your freedom?

A shiver ran down my spine. What indeed? There were several more canvases that were blank except for the marks of the elements. But the last one I picked up read:

With Tao under heaven,
Stray horses fertilize the fields.
With Tao under heaven,
Warhorses are bred on the frontier.
There is no greater calamity
Than not knowing what is enough.
There is no greater fault
Than desire for success.
Therefore,
Knowing that enough is enough
Is always enough.

I walked away from the tree of the art of the mind feeling very different from when I sat under its shade to eat my sandwich. I no longer had to keep very still inside for fear that Fear itself would come rushing in.

Was it mere chance that just after one of the most dismaying things to happen to me in years, in which I felt my personal and creative sustenance to be gravely threatened, I should encounter a tree in the middle of nowhere that told me exactly what I needed to hear?

Was it mere coincidence that there happened to be weed-whackers on the slope that day? Was it mere coincidence that, therefore, I would walk up a section of trail I’d never been on before? And what about the person who made those canvases? What moved that anonymous figure to create them and place them in that tree?

A friend suggested that I Google “Tree-Art of the Mind-Berkeley.” In the age of the Internet everything is knowable, is it not? But the search turned up nothing. No name. No hint of the person who put those canvases in the tree. The oracle of the Web was silent. I found this comforting.

I am an agnostic. Even if I were a believer, I would think it the height of arrogance and hubris to assume that God orchestrated causality to teach me a lesson. And yet I am left with the feeling that there is nothing mere about this experience. I spoke about this with a wise old friend of mine who referred me to the work of Rabbi Abraham Heschel, who wrote:

God is not always silent, and man is not always
blind. In every man’s life there are moments when
there is a lifting of the veil at the horizon of the
known, opening a sight of the eternal…. But such
experiences are rare events. To some people they
are like shooting stars, passing and unremembered.
In others they kindle a light that is never quenched.

I don’t understand what happened. For me, at the core there is a mystery. If I clasp it too tightly I fear I will extinguish its light. Which is why I am telling you about it, writing it down. Maybe in doing so, I can give it air to breathe. The rabbi concludes:

The remembrance of that experience and the loyalty
to the response of that moment are the forces that
sustain our faith. In this sense, faith is faithfulness,
loyalty to an event, and loyalty to our response.

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-Tom Weidlinger is a documentary filmmaker, living and working in the Bay Area. You can visit his Web site at www.moiraproductions.com

–by Tom Weidlinger; Jun 17, 2010

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* this story and many other fascinating forward thinking articles are at jeff hutner’s blog “new paradigm digest”  *  http://newparadigmdigest.com/  *

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Comments (0) Mar 02 2011

you know, i try to illustrate where magic exists. i do that for the logic that if more people could see it, not only would we learn to work with it better, also, it would prove to have been, there, continuously occurring, all along.

one of the most dangerous of human issues is, lack of perspective.

otherwise referred to as ignorance.

it cuts us off at the knees in respect to knowing of and working with our own awesome power and potential for creating more magic, love and happiness in our, and to an effect, those around us, daily perceptions of reality. and reality, oh so much of it is, simply, perception.

anyhow, the email below continues to occasionally appear in my inbox so i decided to read it again. it’s truly a fine example of how we see so little of what is happening right in front of us.

the illustration of that point, is notably supported by this story of this all too common phenomenon occurring within an experience that was so overtly multi sensory that it would seem impossible to miss, like the proverbial elephant in the room… a very telling picture.

the rereading of this did make its mark on me once again. further refining my understanding of our “mass psychosis,” as it is referred to by ram dass :)

having lived in dc and taken the metro i can imagine the sound and it’s resonance as it played around and up those high walls and ceilings. i wonder about the acoustics and how i wish i had been there to experience that…

…which brings to mind a memory of mine that forever left its mark and deeply moves me still…

it was a washington d.c., fall evening in a smithsonian museum anti-chamber a beautiful intimate, golden wood paneled space. i was attending a very private concert performed by three string masters (2 violin one cello) on the most prized of antique instruments in display at the museum. these instruments were as excited as were to have them come out from their cases and play once more.

a new layer of the magnificence and beauty of life opened up

tears streaming, i was utterly and forever transformed.

to me, that is magic.

i ; )

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*** In Washington , DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes.  During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.  After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing.  He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later:

The violinist received his first dollar.  A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes:

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly.  The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time.  This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent – without exception – forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes:

The musician played continuously.  Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while.  About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace.  The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over.  No one noticed and no one applauded.  There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world.  He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars.  Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

This is a true story.  Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people’s priorities.

This experiment raised several questions:

*In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?

*If so, do we stop to appreciate it?

*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made . . .

How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?

Enjoy life NOW .. it has an expiration date.

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*** this story is inserted as it was received in an anonymous email ***

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Comments (2) Feb 09 2011

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in the present, i feel the moments as they slip by one after the other as anyone.

but when i am in review i can not see the time line nor the length of distance traveled. everything is collapsed.

for example, driving from santa fe to nh was quite a distance which took several days. i say “several” days because without stopping to really consider and think about it i can not relate exactly how many days. as when i think of the road traveled i do not see the “length” of it.

in my mind and mind’s eye it collapses into one point of reference.

a dot.

this is only an issue when i am in front of people and required to spout dates, times, locations, etc. that’s just not going to happen with any guarantee of accuracy! to relate that type of data i need to prepare in advance by creating a document that details the points in a linear fashion.

in preparation i am precise.

when i was young it was challenge dealing with seeing so differently from what is considered the norm. teachers called me a dreamer… “she’s bright, intelligent, but such a dreamer.”

one extreme example was a winter ski afternoon with my two sons, then 9 and 11. the 9 year old had collided with another skier. while to the eye he seemed o.k., we knew to have his head checked, and so i found myself in an emergency room scenario. the admitting nurse was asking me simple questions like dates, birth dates, address, etc. i was having quite a time giving the information required (ad a little stress and everything is pronounced). i was quite embarrassed and at a loss when my 11 year old stepped up to the plate, recited all the information, and rescued me. my hero.

on the other hand… put me in a dialogue with a physicist, or dealing with transformational concepts, in a transpersonal situation navigating the psyche, the world of energy, and dimensional worlds, and i’m a fish in water. i really do understand when it is said that time is NOT linear.

so, i’ll never be an accountant, it would be too much work! but i’m really good at what i do

do  :)

the point of this story is to encourage you to use your inherent talents no matter how obscure or unconventional they seem to be — find them — apply them — and much to your surprise their utility and your joy will unfold.

bless…

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Comments (0) Dec 24 2010

how i see . . .

i don’t run into many people that see and translate the world as i do. i focus internally and decipher stimulus, primarily and sometimes exclusively, by energy and vibration. as a consequence i don’t pay a whole lot of attention to the physical manifestation of things unless it is a part of my in-the-moment attention.

i notice many, what seems to others invisible or small, magical instances, items and synchronicities that most do not. and, i can, not notice many large, and what seems significant, objects, geographic locations, etc.

physical reality seems to us to be the primary, and often consciously exclusive, reference from which we determine our impression of the world.

not me.

i see dimensionally and energetically from inside out not outside in.

to see what is not seen, and navigate dimensions, no problem! read a map and navigate a car, can be a challenge.

the other day my mother said, “did you notice your garage space was again available?.. (my vehicle had been banished to street parking for temp. construction) …and it’s been that way for almost a week? i was waiting for you to notice.”

well, no, i didn’t notice.

in spite of the fact that i walk through that garage daily.

it’s a good she told me.

it might have taken to the first snow before i’d take the up my consciousness with that consideration.

there are some small adjustments to make; like crossing the street of a busy nyc sidewalk with friends — they know to take my hand.

all of those dimensional realities and energies lying upon each other! distinct in frequency, in fantastic multiplicity, and all that manifesting!

it’s all so amazing and all encompassing, so much data!

my friends know i might not notice a car.

funny.

and how fortunate i am to have someone to take my hand.

internal…

eternal…

external.

bless,

:)

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Comments (0) Dec 11 2010