My Spiritual Windows

Energy of the inanimate, or so we think   Inanimate objects have a story yet to be told, holding an energy, which can transmute a tale in mysterious ways. Whether stones, articles that once belonged to someone else or place you come upon in this world once again. Something I enjoy doing when given the chance is finding streams or creeks, which have been left undisturbed for long periods. Searching out rocks and stones out of the water with a knowing a memory still lives from the touch of another in a form, which can transcend time. Without experiencing energy in this form of transformation, I myself would have been more skeptic than believing. A nature park exists not far from where I use to reside. Land once traveled by Native Americans than wagon trains as the west was settled and through the process of time has eluded being transitioned into modern times. A deep ravine is home to a herd of deer, which on occasion while being in the park would come out of the ravin

Life is of the Butterfly - with the free will to leave the cocoon Excerpt from Adventures of Moniko: “Oh yes, let the journey begin,” Moniko replied to the Elder, as Moniko bounced around the cloak of the Elder, with a wave of the Elder’s cloak they were now once again within the City of Light. Moniko stood for a few moments absorbing the City once again. In the distance in front of Moniko, he could see a great arbor standing in marvelous beauty at the entrance of the celestial gardens. As Moniko and the Elder traveled through the streets of the city of the Sun, the joy and beauty of the City of Light was absorbed within the spirit of Moniko as he strolled with the Elder. The journey to visit the Hall of the Majestic, and the magnificence of the journey, was unfolding for Moniko. The Elder had chosen to bring Moniko to the Hall of the Majestic so Moniko would have a better understanding and knowledge of the City of Light , how it was a part of all creation in

Invictus By William Ernest Henley Out of the night that covers me,       Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be       For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance       I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance       My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears       Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years       Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate,       How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate,       I am the captain of my soul.

I came upon the chance today of engaging in a conversation with a young woman at work during lunch. Very bright young woman who struggles with depression, has a purse full of different prescriptions to get through her days and nights. In the short time speaking with her it was clear a basis to her depression was trying to move through this life as a square peg in a round hole. Daily becoming a mold which was expected rather than allowing who she was to just be the person seen in this world. Fearing if the true self was exposed for the intelligence she possessed, a shunning was felt from friends.co-workers and those in her life who chose to relate to a fabrication of her persona and while at the same time the struggle of living outside her truth of being had resulted in therapy and pills to take her thru the cycle of life. Decades ago when my girls were babies, I found myself in a position of needing public assistance.One morning I awoke and dressed the girls and myself to our presen

My grandaughters' return home today after a week at camp and this week might just on record in the mind of my daughter as the longest since giving birth. Having signed them up almost a year ago, the camp was free to children whose parent has/had cancer. Old school where all electronics were left behind and a phone number for camp in emergencies. Throughout the week, camp would post pictures on Face book of children engaging in different activities. I imagine all parents waited daily to see if their child was in a picture, just a glimpse to fill the days until they returned. Camp also provided therapy which allows the young to express what is deep inside they have chosen not to express to family. Children take sorrow and tightly pack it into a space where they hope a sick parent will not discover the pain. Smiling and crying at the same time for a parent whose tears they choose not to add their own. My granddaughters know they were blessed for Mom to be alright, not seeing t

To  myself, Heaven is a transition rather than destination.. Wy sings on how we all might imagine beyond mortality.

Sunday Morning – WWJD? It is Sunday morning in my part of this earth and as millions at this time prepare to worship in the house of their faith, millions more are in faith as they sit. I asked a Hindu I know years ago about her faith within the country of her birth. She responded with her understanding of how even the poorest farmer in the field was as rich spiritually as a wealthy man, asking an atheist what it meant to be atheist the response was “No God babe. Just wonder and spirit”.  When writing Moniko a reviewer responded the book sounded like ancient Chinese writing, whereas a Muslim friend responded with “you must be part Muslim.” Everyone having different interpretations in alignment to one knowing in the universe is just one. WWJD today if walking among our six billion on this Earth? Though his energy has been accepted in being born a Jew, millions have adopted him in segregated accepting thru creating doctrines and mandates of the church of faith, choosi