In the Garden

In each century since the beginning of the world wonderful things have been discovered. In the last century more amazing things were found out than in any century before. In this new century hundreds of things still more astounding will be brought to light. At first people refuse to believe that a strange new thing can be done, then they begin to hope it can be done, then they see it can be done—then it is done and all the world wonders why it was not done centuries ago. One of the new things people began to find out in the last century was that thoughts—just mere thoughts—are as powerful as electric batteries—as good for one as sunlight is, or as bad for one as poison. To let a sad thought or a bad one get into your mind is as dangerous as letting a scarlet fever germ get into your body. If you let it stay there after it has got in you may never get over it as long as you live.

So long as Mistress Mary's mind was full of disagreeable thoughts about her dislikes and sour opinions of people and her determination not to be pleased by or interested in anything, she was a yellow-faced, sickly, bored and wretched child. Circumstances, however, were very kind to her, though she was not at all aware of it. They began to push her about for her own good. When her mind gradually filled itself with robins, and moorland cottages crowded with children, with queer crabbed old gardeners and common little Yorkshire housemaids, with springtime and with secret gardens coming alive day by day, and also with a moor boy and his "creatures," there was no room left for the disagreeable thoughts which affected her liver and her digestion and made her yellow and tired.

So long as Colin shut himself up in his room and thought only of his fears and weakness and his detestation of people who looked at him and reflected hourly on humps and early death, he was a hysterical half-crazy little hypochondriac who knew nothing of the sunshine and the spring and also did not know that he could get well and could stand upon his feet if he tried to do it. When new beautiful thoughts began to push out the old hideous ones, life began to come back to him, his blood ran healthily through his veins and strength poured into him like a flood. His scientific experiment was quite practical and simple and there was nothing weird about it at all. Much more surprising things can happen to any one who, when a disagreeable or discouraged thought comes into his mind, just has the sense to remember in time and push it out by putting in an agreeable determinedly courageous one. Two things cannot be in one place.

"Where, you tend a rose, my lad,

A thistle cannot grow."

While the secret garden was coming alive and two children were coming alive with it, there was a man wandering about certain far-away beautiful places in the Norwegian fiords and the valleys and mountains of Switzerland and he was a man who for ten years had kept his mind filled with dark and heart-broken thinking. He had not been courageous; he had never tried to put any other thoughts in the place of the dark ones. He had wandered by blue lakes and thought them; he had lain on mountain-sides with sheets of deep blue gentians blooming all about him and flower breaths filling all the air and he had thought them. A terrible sorrow had fallen upon him when he had been happy and he had let his soul fill itself with blackness and had refused obstinately to allow any rift of light to pierce through. He had forgotten and deserted his home and his duties. When he traveled about, darkness so brooded over him that the sight of him was a wrong done to other people because it was as if he poisoned the air about him with gloom. Most strangers thought he must be either half mad or a man with some hidden crime on his soul. He, was a tall man with a drawn face and crooked shoulders and the name he always entered on hotel registers was, "Archibald Craven, Misselthwaite Manor, Yorkshire, England."

He had traveled far and wide since the day he saw Mistress Mary in his study and told her she might have her "bit of earth." He had been in the most beautiful places in Europe, though he had remained nowhere more than a few days. He had chosen the quietest and remotest spots. He had been on the tops of mountains whose heads were in the clouds and had looked down on other mountains when the sun rose and touched them with such light as made it seem as if the world were just being born.

But the light had never seemed to touch himself until one day when he realized that for the first time in ten years a strange thing had happened. He was in a wonderful valley in the Austrian Tyrol and he had been walking alone through such beauty as might have lifted, any man's soul out of shadow. He had walked a long way and it had not lifted his. But at last he had felt tired and had thrown himself down to rest on a carpet of moss by a stream. It was a clear little stream which ran quite merrily along on its narrow way through the luscious damp greenness. Sometimes it made a sound rather like very low laughter as it bubbled over and round stones. He saw birds come and dip their heads to drink in it and then flick their wings and fly away. It seemed like a thing alive and yet its tiny voice made the stillness seem deeper. The valley was very, very still.

As he sat gazing into the clear running of the water, Archibald Craven gradually felt his mind and body both grow quiet, as quiet as the valley itself. He wondered if he were going to sleep, but he was not. He sat and gazed at the sunlit water and his eyes began to see things growing at its edge. There was one lovely mass of blue forget-me-nots growing so close to the stream that its leaves were wet and at these he found himself looking as he remembered he had looked at such things years ago. He was actually thinking tenderly how lovely it was and what wonders of blue its hundreds of little blossoms were. He did not know that just that simple thought was slowly filling his mind—filling and filling it until other things were softly pushed aside. It was as if a sweet clear spring had begun to rise in a stagnant pool and had risen and risen until at last it swept the dark water away. But of course he did not think of this himself. He only knew that the valley seemed to grow quieter and quieter as he sat and stared at the bright delicate blueness. He did not know how long he sat there or what was happening to him, but at last he moved as if he were awakening and he got up slowly and stood on the moss carpet, drawing a long, deep, soft breath and wondering at himself. Something seemed to have been unbound and released in him, very quietly.

"What is it?" he said, almost in a whisper, and he passed his hand over his forehead. "I almost feel as if—I were alive!"

I do not know enough about the wonderfulness of undiscovered things to be able to explain how this had happened to him. Neither does any one else yet. He did not understand at all himself—but he remembered this strange hour months afterward when he was at Misselthwaite again and he found out quite by accident that on this very day Colin had cried out as he went into the secret garden:

"I am going to live forever and ever and ever!"

The singular calmness remained with him the rest of the evening and he slept a new reposeful sleep; but it was not with him very long. He did not know that it could be kept. By the next night he had opened the doors wide to his dark thoughts and they had come trooping and rushing back. He left the valley and went on his wandering way again. But, strange as it seemed to him, there were minutes—sometimes half-hours—when, without his knowing why, the black burden seemed to lift itself again and he knew he was a living man and not a dead one. Slowly—slowly—for no reason that he knew of—he was "coming alive" with the garden....


From: The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Chapter 27

A Thousand Marbles

About 3 years ago someone sent me this via email. It's been sitting here as a draft ever since. Today I actually took the time to read it. It's kind of a story about "losing your marbles" which is something I regularly worry about..  and it's a story about time which is another thing I worry about... So... I think it's worth sharing and here it is:

The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings. Perhaps it's the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise, or maybe it's the unbounded joy of not having to be at work. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable.

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the garage with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time. Let me tell you about it:

I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap, with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know the kind; he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whom-ever he was talking with something about 'a thousand marbles.' I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say

'Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you're busy with your job. I'm sure they pay you well but it's a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Har d to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. It's too bad you missed your daughter's 'dance recital' he continued. 'Let me tell you something that has helped me keep my own priorities.' And that's when he began to explain his theory of a 'thousand marbles.'


'You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years.


'Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now, stick with me, Tom, I'm getting to the important part.


It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail', he went on, 'and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays.' 'I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy- five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy. So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round up 1000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside a large, clear plastic container right here in the shack next to my gear.'


'Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away. I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life.


There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight.'


'Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure that if I make it until next Saturday then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.'


'It was nice to meet you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your family, and I hope to meet you again here on the band. This is a 75 Year old Man, K9NZQ, clear and going QRT, good morning!'

Three Questions

Here's a story by Tolstoy. I especially like it because I'm always wanting to know the right time to begin anything, the right people to listen to, and above all I'm constantly wanting to know what is the most important thing to do...

IT once occurred to a certain king, that if he always knew the right time to begin everything; if he knew who were the right people to listen to, and whom to avoid, and, above all, if he always knew what was the most important thing to do, he would never fail in anything he might undertake....

... I am so sorry, but this post has been moved to my new website, Hey It's Me, hosted at shirleytwofeathers.com, and can be found in its entirety here: The Right Time For Everything

The Donkey In The Well

I found this in my inbox today - enjoy!

One day a farmer's donkey fell down into a well. The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do.

Finally, he decided the animal was old, and the well needed to be covered up anyway; it just wasn't worth it to retrieve the donkey.

He invited all his neighbors to come over and help him. They all grabbed a shovel and began to shovel dirt into the well. At first, the donkey realized what was happening and cried horribly. Then, to everyone's amazement he quieted down.

A few shovel loads later, the farmer finally looked down the well. He was astonished at what he saw. With each shovel of dirt that hit his back, the donkey was doing something amazing. He would shake it off and take a step up.

As the farmer's neighbors continued to shovel dirt on top of the animal, he would shake it off and take a step up.

Pretty soon, everyone was amazed as the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and happily trotted off!

MORAL: Life is going to shovel dirt on you, all kinds of dirt. The trick to getting out of the well is to shake it off and take a step up. Each of our troubles is a steppingstone. We can get out of the deepest wells just by not stopping, never giving up! Shake it off and take a step up.

Remember the five simple rules to be happy:

• Free your heart from hatred - Forgive.
• Free your mind from worries - Most never happen.
• Live simply and appreciate what you have.
• Give more. Expect less

Enough of that crap . .. . The donkey later came back, and bit the farmer who had tried to bury him. The gash from the bite got infected and the farmer eventually died in agony from septic shock.

The Truth About Brutus

The K9 Above is Brutus, a military K9 at McChord. He's huge - part Boxer and part British Bull Mastiff and tops the scales at 200 lbs. His handler took the picture. Brutus is running toward me because he knows I have some Milk Bone treats, so he's slobbering away! I had to duck around a tree just before he got to me in case he couldn't stop, but he did.

Brutus won the Congressional Medal of Honor last year from his tour in Iraq . His handler and four other soldiers were taken hostage by insurgents. Brutus and his handler communicate by sign language and he gave Brutus the signal that meant 'go away but come back and find me'. The Iraqis paid no attention to Brutus. He came back later and quietly tore the throat out of one guard at one door and another guard at another door. He then jumped against one of the doors repeatedly (the guys were being held in an old warehouse) until it opened. He went in and untied his handler and they all escaped. He's the first K9 to receive this honor.

If he knows you're ok, he's a big old lug and wants to sit in your lap. Enjoys the company of cats.

So that's the story that came with the picture. And I like that story! Too bad it isn't true. Here's the real story:

The dog's name is not Brutus; in fact, his name is 'Spike," and he was never a military working dog. Spike is a retired Police Service Dog who served honorably during the years 2001 to 2007 with the Scottsdale Police Department's K-9 Unit in Scottsdale, Arizona, under his handler, Officer Scott DiIullo (who is still with the K-9 Unit and working with a new K-9 partner).

Spike is a Belgian Malinois imported from Europe and weighs less than 100 pounds. Furthermore, police and military working dogs are NOT trained to fatally attack a subject they are deployed upon. Dogs used for handler protection are trained to bite and hold the subject until the subject is taken into custody. There is also no training method to teach a working dog to understand a hand signal to command the dog to leave the area, come back later, and then attack.

The Story of Grandfather Peyote

This is how Grandfather Peyote came to the Indian people.

Long ago, before the white man, there was a tribe living far south of the Sioux in a land of deserts and mesas. These people were suffering from a sickness, and many died of it.

One old woman had a dream that she would find a herb, a root, which would save her people. The woman was old and frail but, taking her little granddaughter, she went on a vision quest to learn how to find this sacred herb. They walked away from the camp until they were lost.

Arriving at the top of a lonely hill, the grandmother made a brush shelter for herself and the young one. Without water or food they were weak, and as night fell they huddled together, not knowing what to do. Suddenly they felt the wing beats of a huge bird, an eagle flying from the east toward the west. The old woman raised her arms and prayed to the eagle for wisdom and power. Toward morning they saw the figure of a man floating in the air about four steps above their heads. The old woman heard a voice:

"You want water and food and do not know where to find it. I have a medicine for you. It will help you."

This man's arm was pointing to a spot on the ground about four steps from where the old woman was sitting. She looked and saw a peyote plant - a large Grandfather Peyote Plant with sixteen segments. She did not know what it was, but she took her bone knife and cut the green part off. And there was moisture, the peyote juice, the water of life. The old woman and her granddaughter drank it and were refreshed.

The sun went down again and the second night came. The old woman prayed to the spirit:

"I am sacrificing myself for the people. Have pity on me. Help me!"

And the figure of a man appeared again, hovering above her as before, and she heard a voice saying:

"You are lost now, but you will find your people again and you will save them. When the sun rises two more times, you will find them."

The grandmother ate some more of the sacred medicine and gave some to the girl. And a power entered them through the herb, bringing them knowledge and understanding and a sacred vision. Experiencing this new power, the old woman and her granddaughter stayed awake all night. Yet in the morning when the sun rose and shone upon the hide bag with the peyote, the old one felt strong.

She said: "Granddaughter, pray with this new herb. It has no mouth, but it is telling me many things."

During the third night the spirit came again and taught the old woman how to show her people the proper way to use the medicine. In the morning she got up, thinking:

"This one plant won't be enough to save my people. Could it have been the only herb in this world? How can I find more?" Then she heard many small voices calling:

"Over here, come over here. I'm the one to pick."

These were peyote plants guiding her to their hiding places among the thorn bushes and chaparral. So the old woman and the girl picked the herbs and filled the hide bag with them.

At nightfall once more they saw the spirit man, silhouetted against the setting sun. He pointed out the way to their camp so that they could return quickly.

Though they had taken no food or water for four days and nights, the sacred medicine had kept them strong- hearted and strong-minded. When they arrived home, their relatives were happy to have them back, but everybody was still sick and many were dying. The old woman told the people:

"I have brought you a new sacred medicine which will help you."

She showed the men how to use this *pejuta*, this holy herb. The spirit had taught her the ceremony, and the medicine had given her the knowledge through the mind power which dwells within it. Under her direction the men put up a tipi and made a fire. At that time there was no leader, no roadman to guide them, and the people had to learn how to perform the ceremony step by step, from the ground up.

Everybody, men and women, old and young, ate four buttons of the new medicine. A boy baby was breast nursing, and the peyote power got into him through his mother's milk. He was sucking his hand, and he began to shake it like a gourd rattle. A man sitting next to the tipi entrance got into the power and caught a song just by looking at the baby's arm. A medicine man took a rattle of rawhide and began to shake it. The small stones inside the rattle were the voice of Grandfather Peyote, and everybody understood what it was saying. Another man grabbed a drum and beat it, keeping time with the song and the voice inside the rattle. The drumming was good, but it did not yet have the right sound, because in that first ceremony there was no water in the drum.

One woman felt the spirit telling her to look for a cottonwood tree. After the sun rose, all the people followed her as Grandfather Peyote guided her toward the west. They saw a rabbit jumping out of a hole inside a dried-up tree and knew that this was the sacred cottonwood. They cut down the tree and hollowed out the trunk like a drum where the rabbit hole had been. At the woman's bidding they filled it with fresh spring water - the water of life.

On the way back to camp, a man felt the power telling him to pick up five smooth, round pebbles and to cover the drum with a piece of tanned moose hide. He used the pebbles to make knobs around the rim of the drum so that he could tie the hide to it with a rawhide thong. And when he beat the drum it sounded good, as if a spirit had gotten hold of it.

When night came, the people made a fire inside the tipi and took the medicine again. Guided by peyote power, the old woman looked into the flames and saw a heart, like the heart-shaped leaf of the cottonwood tree. Thus she knew that the Great Spirit, who is also in Grandfather Peyote, wanted to give his heart to the red men of this continent. She told the man tending the fire to form the glowing embers into the shape of a heart, and the people all saw it beat in rhythm with the drum.

A little later, one helper who was under the spirit power saw that the hide rope formed a star at the bottom of the drum. He shaped the glowing coals of the fire into a star and then into a moon, because the power of the star and the spirit of the moon had come into the tipi.

One man sitting opposite the door had a vision in which he was told to ask for water. The old woman brought fresh, cool water in a skin bag, and they all drank and in this way came under the power. Feeling the spirit of the water, the man who was in charge of the fire shaped the embers into the outline of a water bird, and from then on the water bird became the chief symbol of the holy medicine.

Around the fire this man made a half-moon out of earth, and all along the top of it he drew a groove with his finger. Thus he formed a road, the road of life. He said that anybody with the gift of *wacankiyapi*, which means having love and heart for the people, should sit right there. And from that day on, the man who is running a meeting was called the "roadman".

In this way the people made the first peyote altar, and after they had drunk the water, they thanked the peyote. Looking at the fire in the shape of the sacred water bird, they prayed to the four directions, and someone sprinkled green cedar on the fire.

The fragrant, sweet-smelling smoke was the breath of Grandfather Peyote, the spirit of all green and growing things. Now the people had everything they needed: the sacred herb, the drum, the gourd, the fire, the water, the cedar. From that moment on, they learned to know themselves. Their sick were cured, and they thanked the old woman and her grandchild for having brought this blessing to them. They were the Comanche nation, and from them the worship of the sacred herb spread to all the tribes throughout the land.

- Told by Leonard Crow Dog at Winner, Rosebud Indian Reservation, South Dakota, 1970

Why did she cut off her own head?

When I wrote the post on Creativity and Bloodletting, I discovered Chinnamasta. This self-decapitating goddess really fascinates me. It's such a strange image. A goddess cuts off her own head to feed her devotees while standing on a goddess and a god who are busily having sex... I hardly know what to think.

Just in case you're having trouble actually visualizing this, here's what it looks like! My sister loves painting religious icons... I wonder if she'd ever be tempted to do this one.



Here's the story behind the image:

One day Parvati went to bathe in the Mandakini river…with her attendants, Jaya and Vijaya. After bathing, the great goddess’s color became black because she was sexually aroused. After some time, her two attendants asked her, "Give us some food. We are hungry.” She replied, “I shall give you food but please wait.” After awhile, again they asked her. She replied, “Please wit, I am thinking about some matters.”

Waiting awhile, they implored her, “You are the mother of the universe. A child asks everything from her mother. The mother gives her children not only food but also coverings for the body. So that is why we are praying to you for food. You are known for your mercy; please give us food.”

Hearing this, the consort of Shiva told them that she would give anything when they reached home. But again her two attendants begged her, “We are overpowered with hunger, O Mother of the Universe. Give us food so we may be satisfied, O Merciful One, Bestower of Boons and Fulfiller of Desires.”

Hearing this true statement, the merciful goddess smiled and severed her head. As soon as she severed her head, her head fell on the palm of her left hand. Three bloodstreams emerged from her throat; the left and right fell respectively into the mouths of her flanking attendants and the center one fell into her own mouth. After performing this, all were satisfied and later returned home. From this act Parvati became known as Chinnamasta.

A Bear Story

Day 39 - Living by the book.

So, today I talked to an old story teller. He told me the following story:

One day Bear, who was a very large bear and very hungry, went down to the river to do some fishing.

On his way, he came to a small round house in which lived a brother and a sister.

"Aha!" said the bear, "Here I have a nice big nut to crack!"

He clapped his powerful hands together and crushed the house between them. He was so forceful that the house was crushed. But with the force of the blow, the two siblings flew right out of the top of the house and landed - quite by accident - at the top of a very tall tree.

Bear was not to be deterred, he thought these two "kernels" might be tender and tasty, so he climbed up the tree.

The tree, however, was unable to bear his weight and broke in half, sending the twins flying. They landed in the river and were immediately swept downstream.

Bear shook himself and thought about what to do... there was the river full of fat big fish, there were the two "kernels" disappearing downstream. He looked at the fish swimming under the water - he looked downstream - he looked bat at the fish, right there, almost underfoot. I'll just have one or two for a snack, he thought, and next thing you know he had a full belly and was taking a nap.

The twins were very frightened, the river carried them over rocks and around bends... they had many adventures... and they never stopped running from the bear who had long since forgotten all about them.

Legend of the Phoenix

The Phoenix bird symbolizes immortality, resurrection, and life after death. In ancient Greek and Egyptian mythology, it is associated with the sun god. According to the Greeks,the bird lives in Arabia, near a cool well.

Every morning at dawn, the sun god would stop his chariot to listen to the bird sing a beautiful song while it bathed in the well. Only one phoenix exists at one time. When the bird felt its death was near, every 500 to 1,461 years, it would build a nest of aromatic wood and set it on fire. The bird then was consumed by the flames.

A new phoenix sprang forth from the pyre. It embalmed the ashes of its predecessor in an egg of myrrh and flew with it to Heliopolis, "City of the Sun," where the egg was deposited on the altar of the sun god.

A Cute Dragon Story

I was visiting my granddaughters the other day, and they got all fascinated with the cool little mojo bag I wear with my Shaman Stone in it. Sunshine, who is 7, was really curious about it. So I told her that I had found an egg, and that I was keeping it safe and warm in the little bag I had knitted.

She asked me about a million questions about where did I find it, and did I think it would hatch, and what was in it. So I told her that I found it "somewhere" and that I hoped it might hatch someday... but maybe it might be a long long time. We talked about what might be inside of it... I said, "I don't know... maybe something really cool, like a dragon."

She said, "Yeah! maybe a human being... or even a stick!!"

Then, my other grandaughter Layla who is 4 wanted to touch it, so I let her hold the bag and listen to it to see if she could hear anything in it. After cuddling it in her hands and listening to it, she asked, "What's in there?"

I said... "I think it might be a dragon."
Her eyes got big and she looked at me and said, "A dragon?"
I said, "Yes! Wouldn't that be cool?"
And she said, "Nana! You can't have a dragon!"
I said, "I can't?"
She said, "No! You can't! It would wreck the town!"
I said, "Are you sure? Maybe he'd be a nice little dragon."
And she said, "No he won't! You better put that away! Somebody might get hurt!"

LOL
Kids... aren't they fun?
I wonder what it would be if it hatched...

And if I had a choice,
which would I pick...
this?



Or this?

June 24, 2004

I found this... floating around in my inbox. It's an email I wrote almost 4 years ago. So much hasn't changed since then!

Hi.
Well, I'm so discouraged.
One step forward and then three steps back.
Work is slow this week at Heavenly Pets.
I'm wondering how I will ever get my debts paid.
I can't make myself get my income taxes filed,
or the grass mowed,
I hope I can make myself apply for some jobs tomorrow.
So far, all the jobs that I really want are taken before I even get an application filled out.
Jobs I think I could get pretty easy go to other people
Younger people no doubt.
James gets jobs all the time.
He applies
And he gets hired.
He has a job right now.
So what's up with that?
Do I have to be mentally disabled and a man in order to get a job?
I have a job.
And I like my job.
Somebody told me once
"Do what you love and the money will follow."
So I'm doing what I love
And the money is following who?
And why am I complaining?
I will probably have just enough to pay my house, car, utilities, and bank of america
Just enough to pay them all one month late
At least I'm consistant.
I pay them
And I'm always late.
And it's not just paying the bills that I 'm late with either.
I'm late sending out birthday cards
And presents
Mothers day cards
and presents
Fathers day cards
and presents
Speaking of cards, I have 2 people that want to pay me for Gospel Missionary Cards
And I can't seem to get that taken care of either.
So what's up with that?
Money.
The root of all evil.
Did they really teach us that in church?
I did some research.
And it looks like I'll lose my land and mobile home if I do a bankruptcy.
A lawyer would be a very good idea.
And the thought of contacting one makes me too tired to even breathe.
I have some boarding going on.
But it isn't legal.
I still need to paint and mow and clean the place up
and then call the state of missouri
and pay this years fee
and last years fees
and deal with a kennel inspection
and it is never as bad as I think it will be
And just thinking about it makes me too tired to evn breathe.
My dad asks about it every time we talk.
He sent me $300 to get it legal.
I bought a lawn mower with some of the money
The rest of it is in a cookie jar
on top of my refrigerator
Someone has bought the property next to mine
they are building a house
it's making me crazy
I just want to scream and cry and rage and go on a shooting spree
but I'm too tired to do anything that vigorous
If I lose my privacy
And my peace and quiet
I'll be even more crazy than I already am
I used to have friends that I talked to regularly
but I don't call them
And most of the time I have my phone turned off
So even if they did call me
It wouldn't be very interesting for them
Since I haven't changed my phone message for weeks
At least it seems like weeks
I think I'm depressed
There was this thought that I should go out and get some professional help
Hypnosis
Or something
And then I started to feel pretty good
And I started painting
And I realized that I don't really need anyone to help me be OK
And then I got tired
And stopped feeling pretty good
And stopped painting
And started feeling pretty freaked out about money
And now I'm too tired to even breathe
The resistance in me is so big
I think it might swallow me up
Resistance to what?
I don't know.
Change.
Pain.
Discomfort (which is often worse than pain)
Activity
Life itself
The inevitability of "stuff"
and having to let go of it.
I was going to go to a sweat on Sunday
Thinking it might pull me out of this swamp of paralysis
But it's Layla's birthday party day
And I can't miss that.
Sky would kill me!
I'd be "Bad Grandmother of the Year"
And then I keep having these recurring thoughts --
painful things will happen in my life
I will get old
I will get frail
People I love will die
My dogs will die
Carpenter ants will eat my house
I'll never amount to anything
my whole life is mostly composed of big ideas that never amounted to anything
I probably won't go to heaven
I'll probably have to come back and do life on earth all over again
because I screwed this up so bad
So.
I'd call
but it's too late now.
I went to bed once
And I couldn't sleep.
They had bull dozers going in the field next to mine.
And I was thinking about the foxes
and the coyotes
and the owls
and all the living things that are being displaced
to go where?
and then my recurring thoughts
about change, and loss, and death came creeping into bed with me
So I turned on some music
but my ears betrayed me
and strained to see if they could hear the heavy equipment tearing up the soil
So I got up
and went looking for a job online
Found a few things
that I hope I call about tomorrow.
I love you both.
Love
Shirley

Depressing isn't it?
And here's the worst part: I'm having exactly that same kind of day today! Bleah! It makes me want to chop off my head!

Awww.... This is really sweet!

This is a video of a homeless man in Santa Barbara and his pets. They work State Street every week for donations. The animals are pretty well fed and seem to be happy. They are a family. The man who owns them rigged a harness up for his cat so she wouldn't have to walk so much (like the dog and himself). At some juncture the mouse came along, and since no one wanted to eat anyone else, the mouse started riding with the cat and often, on the cat. The dog will stand all day and let you talk to him and admire him for a few chin scratches.

Roping a Deer

Names have been removed to protect the stupid!
Actual Letter from someone who farms in Kansas.

I had this idea that I was going to rope a deer, put it in a stall, feed it up on corn for a couple of weeks, then kill it and eat it.

This hilarious story has been moved to it's more permanent spot at shirleytwofeathers.com

Buffalo Child Comes Home

A story by shirleytwofeathers

Buffalo Child was born on the evening of the day of a great storm. A hard rain came down in sheets, bringing earthworms up out of the soil, and sending raccoons scurrying home to their dens. The ground all around the birth mother had turned to mud, and was so deep and thick that Buffalo Child had a very hard time standing up.

Her birth mother tried to nudge her to her feet, but Buffalo Child just rolled over. She rolled over so many times that thick mud stuck to her birth damp coat, and became very heavy. Finally, with great difficulty, Buffalo Child stood up. She looked around for her birth mother, but everything was the color of brown earth. Thick mud covered Buffalo Child’s eyes, and she did not recognize anything. She could not see which of the dark shapes in front of her was her mother.

Buffalo Child moved hesitantly toward the dark shapes, and as she did, her confidence grew. Surely her mother was the tallest, most magnificent of all the shapes she saw before her. On unstable legs, she ran forward, running right into the thick brown shape she thought was her mother. But it wasn’t her mother that she was running towards. It was an old cottonwood tree, and it hit her hard between the eyes. Buffalo Child cried out, thinking that her mother had struck her. The tears washed some of the mud and dirt out of her eyes, and she saw that her mother was not the tree.

The other Buffalo Mothers were dismayed. They saw the newborn Buffalo Child run into the old cottonwood tree, they saw that she was lost and stumbling, and so they moved into a protective circle around her. Her birth mother once again nudged Buffalo Child and this time, with awkward shaky steps, she found her mother. Buffalo Child suckled sweet milk, and she felt love, and it was good.

Buffalo Child was never able to see clearly, and the thick mud that had formed around her when she was born soon hardened. It was very heavy, and caused her to grow in an unbalanced way. Her mother was patient at first, but their bond was not as strong as it might have been, and it was very hard to be the mother of a child who was half blind and unable to walk in a straight path. Buffalo Child was always bumping into rocks and tripping over thick clumps of prairie grass, and blundering into thickets of thorn bushes. The other mothers soon lost interest in this strange child; they grew tired of looking for her when she was lost. They had their own children to worry about. They had their own concerns.

And so it was, that Buffalo Child often went hungry, she had no safe place to sleep at night, no kind words were spoken, and her life grew cold and lonely. She no longer felt love, and did not often taste the sweetness of mother’s milk.

The leader of the tribe, a great White Buffalo, watched Buffalo Child those first days of her life. His heart filled with compassion as he saw how the members of the tribe, and even her own birth mother, one by one fell away, until soon Buffalo Child had no one at her side, no one to show her where the sweet grass was, no one to lead her to the quiet watering holes, no one to pick her up and dust her off after a great fall. He saw that she was alone in the world and his heart opened to her. And he took it upon himself to be her father.

He named her Star Child, and licked her clean of mud and dust. He pulled burrs and thorns out of her thick coat, and soon it was clear that she was truly his daughter. Her robe, like his, was thick and white. The White Buffalo leader was kind to Star Child, and she called him Father. He waited patiently when she stumbled and fell; he stood guard over her as she slept; he taught her to find her way. In his care, she once again felt the sweetness of love, and it was good. But although she grew healthy and strong, and the dust and mud were gone, Star Child never regained her balance, and her eyesight was not clear.

One early morning, in the spring of the year, when a family of snow geese made a V in the sky, the Father took Star Child on a long walk. They crossed a small river, and stopped to enjoy the otters at play. Soon they came to a beautiful place, a place that was very close to the rising sun. Blades of sweet grass shone with gold on their edges. Somewhere a cougar made his presence known, and for a moment all was silent.

Star Child was very tired and sleepy after the long walk, so she lay down to rest in the tall golden grass. The White Buffalo Father stood quietly over her. He made a necklace of sweet grass and placed it around her neck. He wove a very small crystal into the fur on her forehead, and then he went away.

Star Child woke up to an eerie cry. She looked around for her Father, but he was gone. She looked toward the rising sun and saw a huge shape coming towards her in the sky, it looked swift and sure. She was very afraid, so she closed her eyes, and buried her head in the grass. She hoped that she would look like a large white rock. She hoped that whatever it was that was coming would fly on by.

But it didn’t.

The Great Mother of the Golden Eagles flew out of the rising sun toward Star Child. Her eyes were sharp and bright. She picked the Star Child up in her strong talons, and carried her to her nest high in the top of a tree that grew high on the top of a mountain right on the edge of the world. The nest was large and lined with golden down. Golden Eagle Mother set Star Child down in the nest. Her eyes were sharp and bright, but they were kind, and Star Child lost her fear.

The time that Star Child lived in the nest was a healing time. No one laughed at her, or made fun of her for falling down, or bumping into things. She didn’t get lost. It was easy to stay in the nest because the sides were tall and strong, made of sturdy sticks and branches. It was a secure place at the top of the world. And Star Child could look over the edge, and out into the world whenever she wanted.

Golden Eagle fed Star Child healing herbs. She brought fresh, mountain water. In the night, under the bright stars, Star Child nestled, contentedly under Golden Eagle’s strong wings, and listened to the rhythm of her strong heart. She thought of her as Mother. It was a safe and sacred time.

Soon, because of the healing herbs, and because of the love of the Golden Eagle Mother, Star Child began to see more clearly. She began to see more than just colors and shapes when she looked out into the world. She began to see green grass, and red hawks feasting on the mice that lived in the grass. She saw rivers, and ponds, and the lodges of beavers. She saw forests and trees, and the deer people who lived amongst the trees.

At first it was fun to be seeing so clearly. But after a time, Star Child began to miss the feeling of soft grass and the earth under her feet. She wanted to bury her nose in flowers just like the hummingbirds she saw from her high perch at the edge of the world. She wanted to walk with fireflies in the evening time, and listen to owls in the night.

She looked toward the northern plains, and she saw the White Father, and she saw his gentle eyes, and knew his love. She saw her Birth Mother, and how it was with her, and the other Buffalo Mothers, their children, and the great Buffalo Tribe, and her heart was filled with an aching sadness. But she knew that in this great high place she was loved, that the Golden Eagle Mother loved her deeply and fiercely, and she herself had great love for the Mother of Eagles. So Star Child decided to forget about her sadness, she made a gift out of her precious necklace of sweet grass and gave it to the Mother. She decided to try to be happy.

The Golden Eagle Mother was pleased with the gift, but she was not fooled. She was ancient and wise in the way of children. And she knew what was best for Star Child. So one day, when the sun stood tall in the center of the sky, she took Star Child out of the nest and flew with her down to a place where the grass was thick and lush, where fat gray rabbits lived in warrens under the ground; a place of rivers filled with salmon; and where families of wolves hunted and sang in the night.

She gently set Star Child down in the soft green grass. And she said, “I love you, and I will watch over you always. My light will shine on you, no matter where you go, no matter where you are.” And with that, she flew back to her nest by the place where the sun rises.

Star Child was alone. She was a little bit scared, and a little bit sad. Star Child was alone. She was a little bit scared, and a little bit sad, but she was also excited and happy to be in this new place. Rabbits peeked out of their holes, curious about this stranger whose white robe was now tipped with gold. They were very impressed.

As soon as Star Child saw their little rabbit faces peeking out of the ground, she scrambled quickly to her feet. She was eager to make new friends. But even though her vision was good, her balance was still very bad, she was still unable to walk a straight path, and the first thing she did was run into a large rock and fall down. The rabbits laughed and laughed. They rolled on the ground laughing. Star Child saw that their laughter was filled with joy and fun, and she started laughing too.

Coyote heard the laughter and immediately came to investigate. And what he saw filled him with amazement. In front of him was a buffalo calf, with gold tipped white fur, rolling on the ground, with rabbits, laughing. He watched quietly. Soon the laughter stopped, the rabbits went back to their rabbit business, and Star Child stood up. She was hungry and began to munch on the grass.

Coyote noticed that the buffalo calf walked in a strange sideways, stumbling fashion. She seemed to know where she was going, but she was unable to walk a straight path, and sometimes she fell down. He began to follow Star Child around. He did everything she did. When she crashed into a tree, he crashed into a tree. He became her shadow. It was great fun.

And Star Child was very comforted to find that she had a shadow companion. Soon they became friends. Star Child told Coyote her story, and Coyote showed Star Child the way of the world. They had many adventures. Star Child discovered that if she followed Coyote as like a shadow, that it was OK to fall down, and that sometimes it was a great and wonderful joke. Sometimes they both fell down on purpose just to have a good laugh.

From Coyote, Star Child learned how to get out of a tight spot, how to talk her self out of big trouble, how to enjoy the surprises of life, and that there is bitter and sweet in every experience. Coyote taught Star Child the language of flickers, how to get the Grandfather of the Fishes to guide you out of deep water and back to dry land, and how brown bears find honey. It was a powerful time, a time of companionship and trust. Star Child called Coyote brother, and they were friends.

One day, late in the summer, Coyote took Star Child on the road toward the place of the setting sun. Towards evening, they came to a cave. Star Child curled up in a comfortable corner of the cave and went to sleep. While she slept, Coyote kept watch. He built a small fire and burned some sage. He sang to the stars, and the stars sang back. Then Coyote left a bundle of sage next to his friend and left.

When Star Child woke up it was very dark and cold. The fire had gone out a long time before. She was alone and very afraid. She called out to Brother Coyote, but he did not reply. She called out to the Mother of the Eagles, and to the Father of the Buffalo, and still there was no reply. The cave was dark, and cold, and silent. She picked up the bundle of sage, and held it to her heart. It did not speak to her either.

She wandered around in the dark for a very long time. Sometimes she bumped into walls; sometimes she fell over rocks. Nothing was funny, and she got very lost. Finally, Star Child sat down and cried. She let the tears flow. She cried for her lost tribe, for the Father, Mother, and Brother who were lost to her. She cried for herself because she was lost, and alone, and afraid. After a while, she ran out of tears. She was tired and exhausted from the wandering, the falling, and the crying, so she did not know what to do.

Suddenly she heard a loud rumbling noise. It sounded like thunder. Star Child stood up, her legs were shaking so much that she almost fell down. But she clutched the bundle of sage that Coyote had left for her. There in the middle of the cave was a huge brown mound of fur. The fur was thick and dark and shot thru with the gray hairs of age. One eye opened, and then the other.

Grandmother Grizzly looked right into Star Child’s heart. She looked past the fear, she looked past the stumbling and the fumbling, and she saw a sweetness and a light. She saw the sweetness of tall prairie grass, the light of golden sunshine, and she saw a story, and a friendship, and fun.

Star Child looked back. She forgot that she was frightened. She saw a Grizzly Bear, and she also saw wisdom, depth of feeling, and a heart as big as the world. “Hello Grandmother,” she said.

“Hello Little One.”

Star Child gave Grandmother the bundle of sage that she had in her hand. The gift was accepted with a smile. Grandmother invited Star Child to sit down. Star Child was very tired after wandering around for so long in the dark, and from the falling, and the crying, and soon she was curled up next to Grandmother Grizzly. There, in that safe warm place, Star Child fell very deeply asleep. She dreamed many dreams. Star Child dreamed of things she had never seen, of the great Whale Tribe that lives deep in the ocean. She saw visions, and she explored the dark time realm. Sometimes she would wake up, and wander through the cave. She talked to the shy mice that nested in hidden places, and to the ants that occasionally visited. If she found water or food, she shared it with them and with Grandmother.

Always when she slept she had dreams, and when the dreams frightened her, she moved closer to Grandmother for comfort, solace, and strength. It was a dark and quiet time. The depth of love was great.

And then, one day, Grandmother woke up. She thanked Star Child for spending time with her, for bringing her food and water through the long sleep. “Now you must go home,“ she said. “I will go with you in your dreams. I will be with you as you sleep, and beside you when you wander in the dark.”

Grandmother Grizzly stretched and growled. She stood up tall and strong, and she pushed hard on the side of the cave. The rock wall gave way with a shout and a roar. Sunlight streamed in.

For a time, Star Child was blinded and disoriented. She walked out into the world, and her vision cleared. It was the fall season; the air was crisp. Ravens spoke to her from the trees, and a snake slipped under the dry leaves into his safe hole in the ground. She looked back to say goodbye to Grandmother, but the cave was gone. She looked around, in the distance Star Child saw a herd of Elk, and beyond the snow covered hills, she saw sweet grass, and yes… Buffalo grazing.

Star Child made her way toward the Tribe. She noticed as she went, that she was able to walk a straight and narrow path, that she was not running into trees, or stumbling into bushes, or getting lost in thickets of brambles and weeds. Quietly and surely, she made her way toward the place where the Buffalo stood grazing, toward her birth mother, her birth brothers and sisters.

In the distance she heard Coyote laughing, so she stopped and waited for him to catch up. As she waited, she looked toward the east and saw the Great Mother of Eagles, and the Sun to touched her face. She heard dolphins singing. She walked toward the north, toward the White Buffalo Father, who smiled to see her again.

And so Star Child came home. But no one recognized her. Her robe had turned to a deep rich brown during her time in the cave; her eyes were clear and gold in color; there was a white star on her forehead; and the scent of sage followed her like a shadow. They called her Buffalo Woman. She lived quietly among her people. Sometimes she told stories, sometimes she fell down just for fun, and always she took care of the children.

An Interview with Friar Tuck

On the prosperity project this month, we are doing The Spontaneous Fulfillment of Desire, and one of our tasks is to find our archetypes. One of the ones I chose was Friar Tuck, here's why:

An interview with Brother Tuck by Marian Fitzwater -

Difficult as it may be to tell, but Brother Tuck is a white monk of the Cistercian order. His thick red stockings are as brash as his matching skirts tucked knee-high into a scarlet girdle that stretches forever around his enormous girth; and his face is as round as the moon and as rosy as any small child's in the winter sunshine.

His piggy-eyes twinkle out from underneath a ring of fuzzy ginger hair that skirts warily around a shaven bald patch before he blows out his cheeks, folds his palms, closes his eyes and blesses me as sonorously as any bishop.

A few moments later, after a lark has added its own song. I ask him: 'I believe you come from the abbey of St. Mary of the Fountains near Ripon in Yorkshire?'

His eyes begin to twinkle again: 'Yes, it was becoming too crowded inside the monastery. A lot of monks had quit St. Mary's of York to come to Fountains Abbey so I decided to leave and form a cell of my own.'

'You live on your own here in the woods?'

'A cell of one suits me just fine, though I keep a few dogs for hunting.'

We sit down together under a fair and stately oak, one of many set deep in Harlow Wood. Nearby rises a spring of clear water, flowing hurriedly away, stretching across the field and down into the valley between the woods. This is the place where Brother Tuck has made his home and has called it Fountainsdale. Ideal for a hermit, the area is densely forested and criss-crossed by streams fed from the fountain spring.

'The monks of the Cistercian order usually build their abbeys far away from people, for they believe in solitude and isolation from the world, don't they?' I ask him.

'Yes, you are correct.... ' (He goes on to explain the history of the order.)

Although you live as a hermit, is it not true that you are very friendly with Robin Hood?'

His eye suddenly brightens: 'I wouldn't say very friendly, well acquainted - yes. We had a little argument when we first met and he hasn't taken any liberties with me since. Must be three winters past since we first crossed paths - or streams to be more precise. Would you like to hear the merry tale?' he asks with a chortle, and we settle comfortably under the oak tree while I listen to Brother Tuck's story.

'The flowers were fresh and gay that morning in May, and I was contemplating by the side of the stream. Because of the many outlaws that lived hereabouts, I wore a leather coat and a cap of steel with a sword and buckler by my side - becomes me quite well, I think.

Well, this fellow comes strolling by, grand as you please, carrying a bow with a sheaf of arrows at his belt - I only learned later that he was the outlaw named Robin Hood.

'Good fellow,' the fellow greeted me, 'as you can see I am a weary man. Will you carry me over this water for Saint Charity?'

I thought I might do a good deed - not having done one for a while - so I lifted him on my back and carried him over the stream. Good deed done, I drew my long sword and ordered this cheeky fellow: 'Carry me back again, bold outlaw, or you shall have some of this!'

Speaking neither good nor ill, in fact nothing at all, Robin carried me back to the other side, the water reaching a span above his knees. But as soon as he had dropped me off his back, Robin drew his own sword and ordered me to carry him back again! Well this time, when we came to the middle of the stream, I just threw him in. 'Now choose, fine fellow, whether to sink or swim,' I told him.

I swam to a wicker wand to help me out of the water while he swam to a bush of broom. When he had climbed on to the bank he let fly with an arrow at me but I deflected it with my steel buckler. 'Shoot on, fine fellow,' I informed him. 'You will not hit me if you shoot all this summer's day.'

He shot a few more arrows without hitting me so we took to our swords and bucklers and fought with might and main. Must have been ten o'clock in the morning when we started and by two in the afternoon Robin had sunk to his knees begging for respite: 'A boon, a boon, curtailed brother! I beg it on my knee!' he cried. 'Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth and blow three blasts.'

'That I will do,' I told him. 'And I hope you blow so hard that your eyes fall out.'

He blew three blasts and fifty yeomen with bows bent came ranging over the lee.

'Whose men are these who come so hastily?' I demanded.

'These men are mine, brother,' said Robin Hood, 'and what is that to you?'

'A boon, a boon!' I cried. 'The same as I gave to you. Allow me to set my fist to my mouth and whistle three times.'

'A whistling fist can do me no ill,' he said, so I whistled three times and my fifty savage dogs came running up to me. 'Here's a dog for every man,' I told the outlaw, 'and you are matched with me.'

'God forbid that should ever be,' said Robin. 'I'd rather be matched with three of your curs than matched with thee.'

I blew a loud whistle again and all the dogs couched down in a row. 'What now fine yeoman?' I asked him.

'Come, good brother, let us agree. If you will forsake Fountainsdale every Sunday throughout the year, I will pay you a fee of ten shillings; and if you will go with me to Nottingham on every holy day throughout the year I'll provide you with new garments.'

'It seems a fair bargain,' I said, 'By Saint Charity I agree.'

And that's how I became acquainted with Robin Hood'

After a few moments he adds: 'That happened three winters past and apart from helping Robin Hood and his merry band on holy days I have never moved from this place. For there is no earl, or lord, or knight who could make me move from Fountainsdale.'

Gaining his feet with surprising agility for a big man, Brother Tuck courteously helped me to mine. After escorting me as far as the Nottingham road he wished me a safe journey home and bid me farewell.

When he turned back towards his own home, his wooded sanctuary, he strongly reminded me of a Knights Templar: as a white monk of the Cistercian order, he lived the life of hermit - one of the poor soldiers of Jesus Christ; and like the Templars who have taken vows of poverty, chastity and obedience - he was normally as gentle as a lamb but as bold as a lion if it came to a fight.

On reflection though, perhaps not so strong on the obedience part.

La Loba

There is an old woman who lives in a hidden place that everyone knows in their souls but few have ever seen. As in the fairy tales of Eastern Europe, she seems to wait for lost or wandering people and seekers to come to her place.

She is circumspect, often hairy, always fat, and especially wishes to evade most company. She is both a crower and a cackler, generally having more animal sounds than human ones.

I might say she lives among the rotten granite slopes in Tarahumara Indian territory. Or that she is buried outside Phoenix near a well. Perhaps she will be seen traveling south to Monte Alban in a burnt out car with the back window shot out. Or maybe she will be spotted standing by the highway near El Paso, or riding shotgun with truckers to Morelia, Mexico, or walking to market above Oaxaca with strangely formed boughs of firewood on her back. She calls herself by many names: La Huesera, Bone Woman; La Trapera, The Gatherer; and La Loba, Wolf Woman.

The sole work of La Loba is the collecting of bones. She collects and preserves especially that which is in danger of being lost to the world. Her cave is filled with the bones of all manner of desert creatures: the deer, the rattlesnake, the crow. But her specialty is wolves.

She creeps and crawls and sifts through the mountains, and arroyos, looking for wolf bones, and when she has assembled an entire skeleton, when the last bone is in place and the beautiful white sculpture of the creature is laid out before her, she sits by the fire and thinks about what song she will sing.

And when she is sure, she stands over the criatura, raises her arms over it, and sings out. That is when the rib bones and leg bones of the wolf begin to flesh out and the creature becomes furred. La Loba sings some more, and more of the creature comes into being; its tail curls upward, shaggy and strong.

And La Loba sings more and the wolf creature begins to breathe.

And still La Loba sings so deeply that the floor of the desert shakes, and as she sings, the wolf opens its eyes, leaps up, and runs away down the canyon.

Somewhere in its running, whether by the speed of its running, or by splashing its way into a river, or by way of a ray of sunlight or moonlight hitting it right in the side, the wolf is suddenly transformed into a laughing woman who runs free toward the horizon.

So remember if you wander the desert, and it is near sundown, and you are perhaps a little bit lost, and certainly tired, that you are lucky, for La Loba may take a liking to you and show you something - something of the soul.

~from Women Who Run With the Wolves
by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Here's something to think about!

Here is a story I found in the book The Spiritual Life and how to be attuned to it by St. Theophan the Recluse.

A certain man lived somewhere far away in the desert. His internal organs became diseased, either his lungs, his heart, his liver, or maybe all of them at once. The pain made him feel as if he were going to die. He could not expect human help from anywhere, and so he turned to God with the most intense prayer. The Lord heard him. One night after falling asleep he saw a vision. Two angels came with knives, cut him open, took out the ailing parts, cleaned them, washed them and annointed them with something. Then they put everything back in its place, sprinkled something over him, and everything healed, as if he had not even been cut open. When he awakened, the elder got up entirely healthy, as if he had never been ill; he was new like a youth in the flower of his strength.

I told this story to someone who labors over himself. When he heard it, he responded with enthusiasm, "Oh, if only the angels would come and do for my soul what they did for the body of the elder!" (This is exactly what I was thinking!) In this response you can hear both a prayer and also a desire to shift that which is supposed to be done through one's own labors to someone else. (Oh oh... he's got me pegged for sure!) For such a crafty thought is not alien to our heart; we know that we are to be nothing but good, to to have to labor to achieve this - we despair. The angels are not going to come to purify and heal our heart. There exist such things as instructions and advice from angels, but everything must be done by oneself. All means are provided; that is, tools and surgeon's instruments. Take them and cut yourself wherever necessary without feeling any pity for yourself. No one else can do this for you. (I know he's right - but will I be able to do it? I'm not at all convinced that I can.)

The act of cleansing must be conducted by one's own self, without any self-pity. The motivator of this act within us is that efficacious, living zeal - that active, live, fervent, untiring zeal that is the sign our spirit has been rehabilitated and restored to its former power through reunion with God by means of the grace and action of the Holy spirit.

We do have our outbursts of zeal, but they are only outbursts, and then they are extinguished. The zeal which is always fervent, constant and untiring zeal, exists only when our spirit is filled with grace by the Holy Spirit. Thus when you have such zeal, it means also that your spirit has been restored, and - do not quench it - it takes in hand both the mind and body, all the requirements of their nature, all their domestic and civil cares, and it directs them toward one thing pleasing God and salvation...

It is both chopper and knife, which always works extremely well when it is sharpened by grace and guided by it's suggestions. It is ruthless when it establishes itself in the heart; it cuts, ignoring the cries of its victim. It is for this reason that the work goes successfully, and soon achieves its purpose; for the cutting is not the only thing. Once everything has been cut off, then zeal is present, but does not function as a knife. It acts as a guard, and turns all its fierceness on the enemies of salvation, on those annoyances from which no one is free and the shamlessness from which no one is ever left in peace.

Without it, your spiritual activity will get nowhere. Indeed, when it is not there, your spirit is asleep; and when it is asleep, there is no use in discussing the spiritual.

A Sufi Dandelion Story

Here is an old sufi story that I have been mulling over today:

Mulla Nasrudin decided to start a flower garden. He prepared the soil and planted the seeds of many beautiful flowers. But when they came up, his garden was filled not just with his chosen flowers but also overrun by dandelions.

Read the rest of the story at Sufi Stories on ShirleyTwofeathers

Strikes Two Woman

This small story, told by Pretty Shield, a famous Crow shaman, is about Strikes Two, a powerful woman shaman and warrior who rode out bravely against Lakota tribesmen who attacked her village. I want to be her!

I saw Strikes Two, a woman sixty years old, riding around camp on a gray horse. She carried only her root-digger, and she was singing her medicine song as though Lakota bullets and arrows were not flying around her.

Then I heard her say, "Now all of you sing: 'They are whipped. They are running away.' Keep singing these words until I come back."

When the men, and even the women, began to sing as Strikes Two told them, she rode straight out at the Lakota waving her root-digger, and singing that song. I saw her, I heard her, and my heart swelled, because she was a woman.

The Lakota, afraid of her medicine, turned and ran away. The fight was won, and by a woman.

My Inner Spartan

I recently became entranced with the movie "The 300", and found myself watching not only that movie, but also "The 300 Spartans" (a 50's film) and a history channel special about it. At first, I couldn't figure out why I couldn't stop thinking about it. And then I remembered that when I was about 7 years old, I heard a story about a Spartan boy and I remember thinking that I really wanted to be that boy. Here is the story:

Spartan children were taught stories of courage and fortitude. One favorite story was about a boy who followed the Spartan code. He captured a live fox and intended to eat it. Although boys were encouraged to scrounge for food, they were punished if caught. The boy noticed some Spartan soldiers coming, and hid the fox beneath his shirt. When the soldiers confronted him, he allowed the fox to chew into his stomach rather than confess, and showed no sign of pain in his body or face. This was the Spartan way.

I wonder now how deeply my life was shaped by this vision of what courage and fortitude look like. I was 7 years old... and I wanted to be that boy! I think that maybe I am that boy on many levels. And I wonder how can I save that boy and at the same time honor and safeguard his strength and determination, his courage and his success.