Si es real la luz blanca
de esta lámpara, real
la mano que escribe, ¿son reales
los ojos que miran lo escrito?

De una palabra a la otra
lo que digo se desvanece.
Yo sé que estoy vivo
entre dos paréntesis.


If it is real the white

light from this lamp, real

the writing hand, are they

real, the eyes looking at what I write?

From one word to the other

what I say vanishes.

I know that I am alive

between two parentheses.

by: Octavio Paz

 *art from http://reading-is-fun.tumblr.com/post/2055342927

Heart Fires

heart fires

All the paths
I have wandered
Always lead home
Where heart fires
Warmly welcome.

My soul has been whispering to me today to look and listen more deeply to the love within myself. I have felt alone a lot in my life, but the more I come back to my essence the more fulfilled, connected and joyful I really am. In my meditation this morning, I came across the words of Zen master, Thich Nhat Hanh, “When you are carried away with your worries, fears, cravings, anger and desire, you run away from yourself and lose yourself. Live your daily life in a way that you never lose yourself. Life is only available in the present moment.” I paused after those words and knew clearly that this year that would be my theme. No more waiting for some magical moment to appear…life isn’t gonna be like I want it to be, but I already have enough to be happy now.

So, I wrote a list in my journal of all the things that I was happy about right in that moment: a red gerianium looking out the kitchen window, Jill, my tabby, sitting beside it like a domestic goddess, watching fluffy, white snowflakes flying by horizontally on the wind, the pines quietly standing in the their wisdom across the way, my children sleeping in their rooms, a white French country table standing in the turquoise kitchen, the pen scribbling out my heart’s contentment onto the page, the gift of sight, the knowledge I’ve been blessed with to heal myself and others, Thai’s teachings of mindfulness, mysticism, and Tao, the Yaqui heritage of my ancestors, shamanic whispers of ‘old soul’ wisdom always with me, my lungs filled with air, and the present moment. Yes, I already have enough to be happy now.

I will rise to tantalizing heights this 2015 and fly on the wings of my highest potential into the space of my own unique spirit. What about you? What makes you happy in this moment?


*photo ‘Loneliness of the soul’ by Kondakova Tata, http://thewinterhome.blogspot.it/2012/10/magia.html

Writing Your Story


“The story is about the love, compassion, humor, and patience you bring to your life and its situations. God and the universe aren’t just working on the situation: they’re working on YOU. If you’re wondering why the universe isn’t solely focused on getting you the great job offer it’s because the universe isn’t always concerned with which job you have. The picture is much bigger than that. Neither is the universe concerned whether or not you’re married or in a relationship—it’s more concerned with your experience of love than who is or is not in your life. And rather than focusing solely on your health, the universe is more concerned with your experience of life, whatever the conditions may be. The universe is concerned with who you are, and it will bring into your life, in whatever the situations, in whatever time, what you need to become the person you’re supposed to be. The key lies in trusting—and having patience.”

-Elisabeth Kübler-Ross-

*photo by Samantha Lamb


Silencing Your Inner Voice


photo found on: http://www.jokeroo.com/pictures/animal/921933.html

I have silenced my inner voice once again….the situation is that a part of me is sooo ready to speak my heart and mind, and then there is something inside that holds me back?! It’s like a seesaw that goes up and down. Could it be that I am worried about what others might think or say; or is it that I’m worried about the responsibility that comes each time I take such a step in life? The next challenge is that I don’t know exactly what I want to say. 


photo found on: http://blurbrain.com/the-farce-of-teacher-evaluations/

As a writer it might seem rather ironic that my inner voice gets silenced so often…but at least for me it has been more like a roller coaster ride through the entire process of expression. It’s like when I walk through the library of my mind there is a librarian that shooshes me into sullen whispers that I hardly dare to raise my voice at all! Other times there is an obnoxious little girl who simply wants to “scream and shout and let it all out”….Arrrgh!


art by Dreja Novak, http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/dreja-novak.html?page=2

So often it gets confusing when the mind becomes cluttered. It gets confusing because there  can be inner voices that really do need silencing like the inner critic who just loves to bathe the soul in negativity causing disbelief and doubt in oneself. Then there is the inner voice who plays the role of the disapproving parent. It also isn’t the pouting inner child who wants constant attention. Nor is it the angry predator of the ego. There are so many sides to our personalities which voice is really our “inner voice”? 


photo found on: http://persephonesunset.tumblr.com/post/5919492265

Today I read an article that reminded me about the true inner voice. I then took a mindful breath and smiled. I smiled because I remembered that the inner voice doesn’t bellow or whimper. It speaks from that safe haven inside the silence of our essence. It is there to guide you along your life path. Of course! How could I forget?! I have to be still to hear my inner voice. It whispers softly and my intuition gently tugs. When my mind is full of this and that….it is cluttered. At times even in meditation, house cleaning can be difficult…perhaps in my case I need to do some heart cleaning. Then I might have a clearer picture of what I want to say. 

*for more on the benefits of listening to your inner voice visit:


My Secret Garden


“What do you want me to do?”, I asked again.

A voice inside said, “Write what you see.”

“I can’t. It hurts too much. All I see is pain and suffering on the faces. I feel it too. I feel it through the words I read or the voices I hear. It combines with my suffering until I can’t bear it anymore. You want me to write about all that?”


“What about the joy?”  I asked,  “Can’t I write about that?”

“What do you see?” came the question again.

“I see closed windows, doors and gates to everyone’s secret garden. I see walls all around  keeping out intruders. I see boundaries and limits. I see a closed and lost world.”

The voice asked,  “What is in your secret garden?”

I looked and paused, finally muttering,”A space with a lot of weeds. I thought I had gardened.”

“Look again, what do you see?” the voice persisted, “What do you see everyday when you wake up?”

Joining hands with self-doubt, I  babbled, “What if all I see is pain and suffering? Who wants to read about that?”

“WRITE WHAT YOU SEE.” Then silence.

Pausing to breathe and break free from the grip, I asked myself: “OK, what do I see? Let’s start, with my life…I see routine and boredom. Ordinary familiarity. Day in and day out. Stop. What do I see about myself?” Not able to open my eyes, I tried another way.

I closed my  eyes and began again, “What do I feel about myself? Kindness and cruelty, together. Tenderness and bitterness; joy and anger, even rage.”

“Wait. I feel a hushed silence as if something is about to happen. There is a bird and some lemon trees situated in the shade, but the air is warm all around. There’s a voice singing. I see a young girl about 14 years old who didn’t want to move.”

All of a sudden, I remember where I kept a story I had written long ago when my family was moving from Pennsylvania to Arkansas.

A Look Out the Window

     Twilight had already dwindled away and rain was sharply falling upon the hard cement. City lights illuminated the pavement on the street. The vacated buildings were swallowed up by the dark foreboding clouds that loomed above them; making one feel insignificant. The rhythm of the rain went undisturbed upon the pavement except for an occasional car driving by. Once in a while I could see a lonely figure passing. 

     As I watched this melancholy setting, time seemed to turn back its dusty old pages as I remembered my childhood. An image of a little girl appeared on the sidewalk. She seemed down-hearted about something. A strange sensation came over me as I watched the little girl behold the dreary view before her.

     She had dark brown hair and a dark complexion. She didn’t appear any older than nine years old. Slowly she turned toward the window and lifted her gaze.  As our eyes met, I stumbled back, stunned at what I saw. It was my own face peering up at me.

    I quickly went back to the window, but no one was there. It still continued to rain and the clouds had become darker. A lonesome feeling tugged me from somewhere underneath. I definitely would miss the little town where I grew up. A slight dot on the map, which held many memories that I hoped wouldn’t fade. The prospect of the future though beckoned me onward to a new bend in the road.

My secret garden is a place of mysterious wonder with shadow and light, but what I see and feel right now is simply the pain and loneliness.

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