The mad dash to Nirvana

How uplifting to be part of this shifting world where hunger for a greater light is stirring the masses of the soulularly impoverished.  Every where I turn I catch

glimpses of new understandings
deeper thoughts and a sense
of oneness bourgeoning from its
embryonic state, swelling into a ripeness
of catch words and phrases
all falling like branches from a
pruned tree, at the gardener's hand

Birthing this magnificent sense of knowing,
the baby opens its eye and sees
that we all breathe, that we are all
integral matter as it turns to suckle mother
and we hunger for the great light
as we learn to keep each other
we are love and we are hunger

Forget we mustn't in this dash
to another realm that born were we
not long ago into this human wealth
where we grow, from suckling mother
In birth we did scream for our bodies
squeezed into this world of pain
where we feed on light- born to suckle mother

Letting grow

Life is just a bowl of cherries.  It is luscious fruit, at the heart of which is a pit which could crack your tooth, choke you, or become the seedling of something magnificent.  If we assume that you enjoy eating cherries it's even more silly to think that you would bypass that sweet botanical flesh because of a minimal chance that some harm might come to you.

But isn't this how we so often feed from life?  Afraid we are of failure- ours, our loved ones, our leaders, despots from another land- that we fail to pluck and eat the fruits that are there before us.  Too afraid to anger someone, we avoid confrontation.  Or worse maybe, we look for reasons to keep away from someone whom we are afraid of losing.  Paralyzed by fear of demise, we can slump so low that we hate and react in anger.

Even a half-assed botanist or agriculturist knows that in order to grow, a plant needs light and food.  So one day in a mad rush to clean your house perhaps you stuff a scraggly plant in the closet (of course this could be a bad habit or annoying friend- but hey, this rant is metaphoric).  Within days the plant will wither.  The green will turn to rotten gray and the soil will become parched.  If left to continue in the dark, this plant will die a slow and meaningless death.

We are so fortunate, who know the wonders of the universe- the very wonder that fuels our souls and lights our light.  It is an honor to own this ability to celebrate our divinity, and the divinity in all.  These of course, go hand in hand.  To be this light, the lover of life and all of its dimensions, is a gift that is shared by many.  What I have recently been gifted, is to become part of a world of many lights- to be part of "the glow."  It's kind of like being a star that could light a whole solar system, (and this is mind boggling all by itself), but to then realize that you are just one small speck in a galactic miracle.

So what if that pit is planted?  What if it grows into something that winds up feeding you and by default, feeding others?  What if it teaches you that the miracle is not you, Laura Vigneau, but YOU, the light?  What if in the humble worship of all things divine in ourselves, we realize the unconditional love and appreciation for all things divine, everywhere?  Suddenly that withering plant (our own shortcomings or our vampiric relationships) become a wanting soil that feeds on love and appreciation.  In no way should we let these drag us down, but nor should we ignore them.  You can't force a cherry tree to blossom but you can feed the seeds with love and light.  When we realize that nothing can harm us because of the wonder that we are, then we are truly harvesting the fruit of the divine force within us.

When life hands us a challenge we can certainly choose to ignore the pits and just let them be.  But when we choose to plant them, and then water and feed them with our light and our love- we are as beautiful as the tree we have planted and as delicious as the fruit it bears.  In the perpetuation of this incredible force of love that is set forth we are creating the most spectacular universal miracle and very simply- intensifying its glow.





Namaste!

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Roll call

There are those who write their name on a list
but when the roll is called they do not come

Many buy a stereo, and a tune to play, or two
but the music remains boxed, never making a sound

Profession of love for the gray of rain
resounds from beneath the dry overhang

And love, that's what you called it, eh?
You summoned it sweetly, but then you hid your face

Run through the rain, let it melt your painted face
Sing a sweet song, sing it, whatever its name

With no particularly linear stream of consciousness gifties on this morning's walk, I kicked the excess mud from my Merrells and climbed into my car.  "Dodo" began to play on the car stereo and I just had to laugh.  This morning I got a letter from a friend who joked about the world being flat, so I sent him that very DM song in the hope that he would enjoy both the message, the music and my intention of sincerity. 

All of the little synchronicities that rain down around us, I thought, (as I nudged my sopping wet hair behind my ears and off of my face) are like dots on a page.  It is up to us to connect the dots, enjoy the picture or even color it in.  What we choose to make of all of these little bursts of light and opportunity are the decorations on our canvas of life.

Dodo

Once upon a time
When the world was just a pancake
Fears would arise
That if you went too far you’d fall
But with the passage of time
It all became more of a ball.
We’re as sure of that
As we all once were when the world was flat

So I wonder this
As life billows smoke inside my head
This little game where nothing is sure, oh
Why would you play by the rules?

When was she killed
The very last dodo bird
And was she aware
She was the very last one

So I wonder this
As life billows smoke inside my head
This little game where nothing is sure, oh
Why would you play by the rules?

You say who did, well you did, you

If all the things that you are saying love
Were true enough but still
What is all the worrying about
When you can work it out

Oh I wonder this
As life billows smoke inside my head
This little game where nothing is sure
Why would you play by the rules?
Who did?
You did, you...

Trophies

Life isn’t about the wins or loses

the bumps or bruises

or the mine or whose-s 

 For he who dies with the most love, grins!

Muladhara

the path was so similar and familiar
to the ones I've walked before

the pain soaked wind
blew the soft, furry weeds
who billowed, bowed to, and danced for me

my core grew numb
yet warm tears streamed
down my face and tickled me

the birds who feared my hunters
perched silent in their tree
but still they sang their song for me

this path unknown
I've walked before
I know the dance, I sing the score

I remember the time when I wrote the sad poem above.  Walking down one of my favorite paths, flooded with sooty ash that had rained just days before, from the Witch Fire. When you're recovering from your own firestorm it is not a stretch to identify with the pain of others- even when it's Mother Nature.  This past Mother's Day while making dinner for my children, my hand slipped causing boiling water to scald my hand.  If you're imagining that it was painful, you would be correct.  It took days before it didn't sting constantly and a week before the entire area wasn't sore.  Just a week and a half later I treated myself to an incredible spa package which included a heated rock treatment for my hands.  I had forgotten about my injury until heat was placed on the weakened spot.  It felt as if I was burning all over again.

At the root of all emotional pain is a comfortable grounding in that discomfort.  Whatever it is that is dragging us down is something that we have always known, and always been able to count on.  For some people pain is the root of what we are.  Whether we had parents who did not know how to love us, or if we were abandoned, or perhaps resented by those who were supposed to keep us safe and loved- somehow we missed out on what should have rightfully been ours.  As a result, pain became our parental constant or our true north.  

My formative years were not completely devoid of love.  I was one of many children and we loved each other (consistently displayed by our angry fighting and bickering), and our mother loved us in her own way- the only way she knew how.  I know that she gave me some pretty awesome gifts including a love of words and some wickedly sharp emotional reflexes.  Always trying to read her whether it was to harvest the bits of fruitful crop, or to avoid the machete that would come flying out of nowhere to chop down the stalks.  It might not have seemed like a gift back then, but now I know better.

So I made some bad choices along the way because my decisions were, although masked in delightful garb, always rooted in the familiar pain.  But one day I woke up.  I don't even know what woke me, but I knew that it was time to change.  There have been times that I've gone forging up hillsides, gung ho, in search of bigger truths.  Sometimes it was crawling through bloodied shards of glass at a snail's pace.  And then there were times when I woke up right back at the bottom of the hill, wondering if I had just dreamt it all.

What a process, and what a long time it takes, to re-discover the beautiful gift of our birth-right.  But in discovering that beautiful divine light that is in each one of us, we are finally free to realize our worth.  This is that step that heals us and brushes away the debris of what is not the authentic us.  Love of ourselves is what frees us.  I continue to honor the pain that has molded me, but I no longer let it choose  for me.  Now, there is no choice- happiness, security, love and divinity are the roots that keep me grounded.


.....................
Carnivorous

Prowling the hills
solitary we hunt
for sustenance
we scour the earth

Finding the kill
that pertinent fill
but rooting for pain
we’re just hungry again

Rip it to shreds
mouth dripping with blood
Coming up for air
we have nothing to fear

Can you survive the stream
Of the blood that flows
Can you rip it to shreds
Will you break bread with me

Will you wear the warm pelt
As we worship the sun
And peacefully slumber
Once the feasting is done

Can the warmth of our flesh
thaw the raw of our souls
Can the depth of our truths
quench us, hungry carnivores

As they lay in the dirt
our hearts beating aloud
They poke and they laugh
The finger pointing crowd

Can you swim up the stream
Of the blood that flows
Can you rip it to shreds
Won't you break bread with me

Say cheese

I suppose that I have always known that one of my "jobs" here on earth, is to make people smile.  It has never been a problem for me, to be silly, or make a fool of my self; for someone else's benefit.  How I got so lucky, at such a young age, to know that what other people think of me, just doesn't matter.  Or, that there is no price not worth paying, to bring joy to another.

It is the giving that matters most in what we do.

After over 12 months of sometimes excruciating pain- the end was in sight.  Just a kidney stone, which should be no big deal to take care of, was the bane of my miserable pain.  A three minute CAT scan was all the proof my doctor needed to see the simple explanation behind all of this pain.  One little rock.  Of course it was impacted into its wall by swelling, but with 30 minutes' effort, it would be gone.  This man who was going to rescue me from the captivity of pain is very somber, and rarely ever smiles.  It's not like me to not enjoy time with anyone because there is always something to laugh about or share, but he is a bit of a cold fish.  I don't know if he doesn't have time for fun, or simply refuses it, but he was not, despite my best efforts, going to be toyed with.

The nurses were wonderful as they prepped me for surgery.  I felt so warm and re-assured as they catered to my every need.  I actually thought to myself that an occasional kidney stone wouldn't be a bad thing, if the result was getting this kind of caring.  They wheeled me to the OR where the OR nurse and her student came to greet me.  Then the anesthesiologist, whom I could not understand (but I surmised must be smarter and greater than the others because he was Chinese) came and introduced himself.  They all commented about how healthy I was as they asked the same questions over and over.  No, I have no allergies.  No, I have never died under anesthesia (not for more than a couple of minutes anyway), and NO- I have not eaten anything! And yes, I have removed my contacts!

Finally, they all bowed in spirit as the man in the deep berry-colored shirt and sharply coordinated tie showed up.  I hadn't realized before, what a respected doctor he was.  I didn't bother engaging him in my pre-op merriment because I wondered what the point was.  He asked how I was (and no, I didn't eat anything), and then looked at me as if he was expecting me to say something.  I stayed silent.  No jokes for him, today.  After turning to leave (I assume to don his glorious scrubs), he turned back at me with half a smirk on his face.  He made some joke about killing two birds with one stone, then gently lifted my left hand and marked it with a marker.  They do this before putting you out, so that you can approve which side they'll operate on.  Makes sense.

It all went pretty smoothly in spite of the collapsing wall which required a stent's insertion.  Ouch.  When I woke up the loving nurses were once again hovering.  In a flash, the scrubbed up doc showed up and asked if I was okay.  Then he was gone.  I did great so they sent me home.

I am so lucky to be loved by so many.  The texts and calls all asked what they could do for me, what did I need, and was I okay.  There were many I love yous as well, from family and friends.  All because of a tiny pebble that I couldn't pee out.

I had a little soup when I got home and then thought that in spite of my haze I would meditate.  I sent love to specific people instead of everyone, one of which was Dr. Nofun.  Then I drifted sleepily and deeply away for hours.  Upon waking I headed straight to the bathroom and when I was done I went to wash my hands.  Looking in the mirror I noticed something weird just above my jawline, on my lower cheek.  For the first time that day I put on my glasses, to see what it was.  A smiley face on my face?  I wondered if my kids were playing some trick on me while I was out cold.  But no, they wouldn't be that cruel- not today.  Hmmmm... then I looked down and noticed that on the back of my left hand was a deep purple smiley face.  Then I remembered that I frequently sleep with my hands tucked under my face.  I guess it was his job to make me smile today.

It's good to be cared for.  

.

Swish, swish, smudge...

A brighter outlook... the power of positive thinking... the law of attraction... seeing things through new eyes...

I keep getting email lectures (probably intended as friendly, inspirational, pick-me-ups, but when the universe is nagging...) about clearing my space and making way for better things.  Cleaning your cache, emptying your closet, dispersing the clutter!  It all seems so logical.  Maybe, but still not so simple.  For someone who has always scaled the mountains of chaos to get where she was going- smooth roads seem as foreign as Australia's bar-b shrimp, social justice or world peace.

The best thing about not seeing clearly is that you never really see that two by four right before it smacks you silly and lands you on your ass.  You never know what you're going to bump into in the dark- and it kinda makes failure comfortably inevitable. And as you're lying there on your face, in an unidentifiable puddle of who knows what, you find yourself thinking "oh no, not again."  You do good, but you never expect it back, and you think this is right.  Righteous pain.

My windshield wipers were smudging up my windshield.  They're not that old, but I held onto them because that's the easiest thing to do, and they represented something that I didn't want to let go of.  So there I was, driving in the rain, unable to see well.  It didn't help that my contacts don't fit well, so between the two I might as well have been crawling down the road with my hand hanging out of the door, feeling for the roadside.   It was surprising that I hadn't driven into something and hurt myself.   The better surprise was when I traded in the ineffective lenses for ones that helped me see.  While I was there I noticed wiper blades on an endcap.  A quick scan of the neatly attached charts and I knew how to solve yet another problem.

As in overcoming any obstacle, time and patience is what we need.  Time to re-train ourselves from the toxic familiar, transitioning to the wonder that waits when we let the light in.  I laugh at myself now when I recognize myself standing in this shadow.  But I laugh because when I look back, I realize how far I've come- and that is all that is important.

When I checked out and paid for the wipers, several people were making a fuss over the dinnerware that the woman in front of me was buying.  It was pretty.  As I joined in the merriment of the pretty woman's new plates, I don't think that anyone around me could have realized how beautiful my new wipers were.

One day when good becomes the more familiar sensation, you realize that life is not a crapshoot.  It's only crappy if you're not shooting for the good.

.

Sunrise

Big girls don't cry

The North Star moved farther south today
It was part of the sky's map, you see
but as with things like love and need
you just can't count on what you think you see

The hills went dark before I was ready
to bid the day, sublime- fare well
but as things are rarely what you wish for
my tongue did not choose to tell this tale

My eyes shed quiet tears of sadness
as one more time love skipped me by
but as joy cannot be measured by the feats of others
my weighted heart just heaved a sigh