Poem for Patricia

Patricia’s Perfection

“Real as they seem, speak out your pains,
I’ll carry them straight to God’s ear.”
The wind whispered.

Eyes weary, parts swollen,
with lungs that loathe lonesome air,
she began

“Like her and like him, I had dreams.
Fragmented, imperfect.
They mattered. They did!

“Just that my body didn’t work well enough.
I could never do enough, try hard enough.
I lost a few things along the way.

“But there were times.
Times I lived fearlessly, Loved tirelessly.
Times I laughed heartily.
Times I knew myself as God’s own."


Sweeping up care and concerns,
pain and regrets,
Wind carried her words to His lap.
* * *

The Sun shone brilliantly,
beaming warmth along with reply.
“You perfect creation, my perfect expression.
Your love was enough, your body sufficient,
You planted the seeds as I asked.
My Love.
You were perfect for the tasks I assigned.
It’s I, not you
who grows seeds sown,
and blooms beauty from beneath dirt and dust.”

She sighed. Redefined
Free, clear, light.
Perfect.

Jammin with Aunt Pat

Editing the poem.

My eyes were drawn to a Cameo CD. I remembered the times we'd dance
and sing and jam together.

I've never been loved by a ghost like this.

I've been communing with her all evening. She walked w/ me and
Chocolate. Insisted on a movie and them used it to show me that I
gotta be 100% me--still the message of perfection.

Then the editing, the music.

Then laying on the floor arms outstretched experiencing what no one
ever talks about. The experience of love being poured onto, over and
through you by a deceased love one like sitting under a waterfall.

You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make
it true.
You may have to work for it, however. --Richard Bach, Illusions

Patricia Ingram

My aunt Pat passed away a few days ago.
Phenomenal. Death is such a magical experience for those of us left behind. An opportunity to reflect, to grow, to appreciate and to connect in ways we previously lacked incentive to try.

I volunteered to write a poem for the final service. I've written a few here and there, published a couple here on this blog in the past. They mean a lot to me. However, I am no poet laureate. I hesitate even to say poet. Though I am that. I write a poem or two every year. Enough, right?

I won't publish it here till after the funeral. Partly because it seems appropriate. Partly because I don't want to share my mediocrity. My ego prefers not to look too bad.

And yet, the best part of writing and publishing and reading this poem I wrote for Pat is how it affirms the great blessing she was in my life. She was unconditional support. If I said I was going to do something, go somewhere, be somebody she'd listen and encourage. If a suggestion came from her lips it was a way to do it bigger, shoot higher.

She had three children. Don't know if they'd say she was the same for them. Maybe yes, maybe no. For me, though, she was unwavering support.

As I got a little nervous about reading the poem that for sake of printing deadlines is unfinished but necessarily "completed", I imagined what she'd say if she were here. She'd say, "Well, I like it. You could probably do more with it with more time. Just do it. Get it in there." And then she'd smile, laugh or make some joke. Then she'd tell me about poetry she used to write or books she dreamed (literally, she dreamed epic novels).

We might say little else to each other for a long while. But I'd know she thought what I wrote was just fine. Perfect. Good enough!!!

God bless your soul Aunt Pat.
Truly I failed to appreciate how much you were my Champion!!

Pink Love

Healing is a phenomenal experience. It's second only to love. Yesterday, I was blessed to experience one of God's daily miracles.

I was visiting my mother who cares for a two-year-old second cousin. Many toddlers his age speak more than their parents might prefer. Words are clear, points are made. Not so with this youngster. His mother experienced a rough patch. Rough enough that he lives with my mom through foster care for the past several months.

He's active. Some might even say a bit hellish in the way he loves to fight with his boy cousins. You know how some baby's are constantly smiling as if a camera is ever lurking around corners, chairs and couches? Not this kid. Smiles are judiciously given when earned by appropriate entertainment or indulgence.

He and I haven't exchanged lots of smiles. I don't really do the kiddie voices, crazy sounds or funny faces. I'd be offended to hear someone say it of me, but the truth is I don't really do "play". I do fun, happy, bliss, joy, jokes and carefree calm. Play, though...not so much!

This particular evening, I'm telling my mom a story about something that happened recently. I do dabble in the occasional animated storytelling :)

I get going pretty good on this occasion with lots of emotion and dramatic movements. He's rolling all over the place, laughing up a storm at my antics. There was a bit more connection between us.

A few minutes later he's in his booster seat between meal courses--chicken all gone, grapes on their way--and his eyes lock with mine. What a look! He's known for staring grown folks down. Emotionless dare in piercing eyes, a touch of curiosity hidden behind the iris.

I like a good game of stare-down. I teach teenagers. This is what I call fun. Not play, though.

We hold the gaze. No blinking. Then, I saw it so clearly. I saw the pain. Knew it was there. Who doesn't expect this kid to know pain, feel hurt in his experience of perceived abandonment.

Staring at it moved the healer in me. I began to send an inch-thick beam of pink from my eyes through his and into his heart. The miniscule muscle movement around his eyes confirmed something was felt. Pink is the color of love. I had to send this kid some love. If eyes are a window to the soul, send it in like the sun. Thoughts, our imaginings, impact the world around us. Why not expect something miraculous.

A few minutes passed. Then he glanced away to his approaching dessert, grapes cut with a mother's love.

He started speaking and as usual, his words were indecipherable. No matter. He kept going. Then, I thought I distinguished a name. I asked him if he'd called this cousin's name. Next thing I know he's going on and on.

And I listened. The words were no clearer, but my listening was keen. I looked in his eyes as he spoke and could feel the story he was telling. He was desperate to have someone hear him, get him, confirm and validate his expression of how life was occurring for him. Closest thing to speaking in tongues I've heard in a while.

He kept going for some time. I proffered a varieties of "no kidding", "what else", "and then what happened" for as long as his eyes said it mattered.

His eyes sent out the closest thing to pure appreciation, I've experienced in a while. He felt listened to and it absolutely melted his heart. Neither of us will be the same again.

Is there any one of us who doesn't crave to be truly heard. Not instructed, not criticized, neither ignored or tolerated. Heard!

Pink Love.
Miraculous Beams.
Communication.

Now, playing with words, with language. That, I do. That, I love.

Again and Again

The joy of creation!

Moment by moment creating our lives.

Our thoughts, our words, our actions

Our choices.

I create peace, ease and bliss.

It showed up as me in a near-empty clearing at an oceanside park
reading a favorite book.

Father's Day

I don't remember which year was the last time I visited my father's grave. In my mind, he's not in the decaying bones that are surrounded by satin and wood and dirt. If I want to connect with him, I can meditate, read his letters or just think of him for that matter. To be honest, for a long time I thought the idea of visiting a grave was a bit silly. Worse really. I arrogantly believed folks who visit grave sites just don't know how to connect with their beloved departed in prayer and thought.

I felt differently yesterday. As I drove down Cherry Avenue, I was struck with an urge to buy flowers and place them on my dad's grave for Father's Day.

It was such a beautiful day. High 70's, clear skies. I'd just dropped off an aunt who attended one of her grandson's birthdays at my mom's place. The mood was all love, peace and joy. A quick stop at the florist. Unable to decide on the right flowers, I imagined myself asking my father's spirit to pick what he'd like and point it out. A bright, beautiful mix caught my attention.

Back in the car, I'm ready to head to the cemetery. A button pops on my dress as I shift a few things in the front seat. Back inside to fasten a safety pin and I'm off to the cemetery. Too bad it'd been so long I couldn't find the grave right away. Too bad, further still, that the information office closed at 5 and it was approaching the 6pm closing time. No problem, I'll just bring them on Sunday--that's Father's Day anyway.

Another beautiful morning. Turns out, though, that I simply remembered incorrectly. Perhaps I should be embarrassed to share that it took three staff to help me find it because I was so sure I knew exactly where it was supposed to be. Never mind that all my knowing had me walking in circles for better than twenty minutes. And, yes, there was that moment, when I wondered if someone had moved it!

I find it. I've got a journal with me. I can't figure out why I'm staying so long. At one point, I decide that communing with him has been wonderful, but that we're done, anything left to "discuss", I'll do at home in prayer, meditation or imagination. I rise, but I sit back down. I can't leave yet.

Looking back, it's odd that I couldn't find it the day before or for so long in the morning. I'd found it on my own before after long absences. Odd.


Minutes pass and I just sit and enjoy the many people at a distance bringing deceased fathers flowers. Various thoughts cross my mind. At some point, I think, "You know, with this entire summer ahead of me and no major plans, no summer school, no classes for myself, nothing but the time to discover, I want to invite my father's spirit to keep me company, advise, help me to uncover or discover that passionate purpose I talked about in the prior entry." I invite my father's spirit to help me make the most of this opportunity to create life newly.

Doubt me or not, but no kidding, a breeze blew across my face. I'd been out there sitting for at least forty minutes with no discernible breeze. I think the invitation, then there's a breeze. It didn't alarm or scare me, but I did question whether I just imagined the difference. And then wind blew a little stronger.

I thought, "That's weird. OK. I won't question it. That's real. That's my father."

The next thing I heard was, "Come on, Bubba."

No way. Though born Robert, he was affectionately called Bubba by family and close friends.

"Bubba."

I turn and look and a two-year old Samoan is being alternatively called and chased by an uncle or older brother. They'd just arrived a few moments earlier.

You tell me. What are the odds that at THAT moment, my father's nickname would be called.

But maybe I just see signs everywhere.

Next Steps

At a seminar I attended last night, the leader says, "...and now you're bored. You've created for yourself the life you wanted, you have it. It's perfect. And you're bored with your perfect life."

My life isn't everything I always ever wanted. It may not be the life any always ever wanted me to have. It is, however, exactly the life I created for myself. Plenty of free time to do with as I please. Close friends, but not an abundance of social events or an excess of active acquaintances. Not the beachfront home I wanted, but surely a roomy, quiet condominium with expansive enough decks and the perfect dog to join me when I soak up the sun on them. I even created for myself the exact lover I wanted. Not bad.

Bored.

I created the pay I wanted for a job that is essentially part-time and part-year. As a teacher my day ends at 1:37pm and, let's be honest, I work about eight months a year after summer, winter and spring breaks and holidays.

Bored.

Yes, I get to impact lives.

Bored.

Sure, there are those really cool Landmark classes I take. Sometimes I take them alone, some I take with my sweetheart. In fact we just started a new one.

This one is called "Creativity: Life By Design". That's the course where the speaker asserted some of us were there because we're bored with what we created and ready for "what's next".

I am. That's me.


I've been thinking about becoming a financial planner, a real estate agent or maybe just finally get off it and teach reiki classes for real and get the website up. A couple books when through my mind as usual. So many options.

Running from my boredom. Running to a fulfilling future. Running to the dreams I left behind when I began to believe that what I have is all I ever wanted.

And a wonderful notion entered my head when I did the homework. I'm unsure about what's next, what career, what business because I have no cause, no purpose, no inspiration greater than myself just yet.

Inspired by the homework, I begin to see that while I give lip service to wanting to help women gain their financial footing, I am not truly about the larger cause of empowering women.

I am embarking on figuring out what I stand for, what I care about.

A passion.

Boredome's antidote.

Freedom Accomplished!

Freedom!!! In August 2008 I enrolled in The Landmark Forum. I loved it!! The three-day and one evening course opened my eyes to some habitual ways of thinking and behaving that were not working for me. Of course, we already know that things aren't working, no one needs a course for that. What I got, though, were rare glimpses into the very source of the underlying assumptions that had me think a certain way and choose habitual ways of being and acting. Cool stuff!!!

I signed up for the next course, then the next and the next. Nineteen months later I have completed The Landmark Forum (3 days), The Advanced Course (3 days), Commitment Seminar (10 evenings over 12 weeks), Self Expression and Leadership Program (approx one eve a week for 3.5 months), Introduction Leaders Program (7 months), Communication: Access to Power (2 days and 1 eve), Communication: Power to Create (2 days, 1 eve) and the Sex and Intimacy Seminar (10 evenings over 13 weeks). With some overlapping others, I completed all of these within 12 months.

Worth every minute and every dollar. The people are great, the information is unlike anything you find in a regular course or seminar. And it's fun. I wouldn't do it if it weren't fun! Do I recommend them? certainly! Do I think you need them? Nope! You don't need anything except food, water and, in most climates, shelter. Everything else just enhances our quality of living.

Twelve months after I'd walked into that first course, my new love and I were completing the seven month Introduction Leaders Program. It'd been intense, fun, exciting. As with all things, all the sweeter when done with a sweetheart.

But my sweetheart says he might be a coach in the next one. I think, "Hmmph. Good for you!" Then, I figured, if we'd gotten so much out of taking the class together, maybe we'd get even if we both coached it. He invited me to join him in the adventure. I said, "Sure!" We were now both coaches in the 7-month Introduction Leaders Program. We'd do it together.

Until he wasn't.

He stopped. Things came up in his life and he made a responsible choice to stop. I continued. I'd committed. Even in those times when it occured more as commitment than fun, I created a good time around it.

That commitment ended yesterday evening. For the first time since August 2008, I am neither enrolled nor coaching any course at Landmark Education. Whew! When I walked Chocolate this morning, I breathed deeply. The air seemed crisper, more oxygenated. Probably, it was just the sweet, relaxing sensation of being unscheduled after nineteen non-stop months of courses.


What I learned during these last seven months is that while I love being a consumer of the courses, being a coach is not where I get a joy buzz. It was a privilege, an honor and full of it's own insights and breakthroughs. I have zero regrets and leave it inspired to write. I've got a short novel I've been working on almost-daily since February 22nd.

(On February 22nd I saw the energy healer from whom I received my reiki II attunement. She works with Matrix energetics now. Fantastic results.)


When I signed up with Landmark in August 2008, I was looking for a breakthrough in relationships and a breakthrough in writing. I met my honey in one of the courses, and it is, by far, the most fulfilling relationship I've been in. The communication is unbelievable and he is everything that I asked the universe to provide.

Now that writer's block is busted, I'm feeling accomplished. Complete! Free! ...and unscheduled :)

Inhale. Exhale.

Believe

What all of us have in common is belief. We may all believe different things. But whatever we believe, we believe wholly.

Anew Love

The more I fall in love with you,
the more I am amazed by
who I get to be.
Loving you more,
I love who I see
Gazing upon you
newly.

Falling anew.
Deeper.
With you.
With me.

(for Steve)

ancestral stream

My maternal grandmother has been incredibly tired of late. Dehydrated, too. After spending three days in the hospital to recuperate and rest, she returned home exhausted from all the interruptions to check this tube and that medication. When I called the evening she returned home, she sounded somewhere between drunk and delirious from the exhaustion.


When I called to check on her a couple days later, she sounded more like herself. Chocolate and I went by to visit. For whatever reason, I'd never given her a reiki attunement.

Normally, I prefer to do reiki attunements with crystals selected just for that particular client and almost always include my moqui balls. It was an impromptu attunement. Fortunately, there was an amethyst and quartz point there given to her as gifts a couple years back.

Crystals under the chair, Chocolate laying at her feet, I swept her aura and then began to pray before the attunement. That's when I saw them in my mind's eye. It first looked like white light. It wasn't a solid white light. Not a beam nor a flood. It was fluid, undulating and composed of individual parts.

The feeling was of so many spirits. Ancestors would be my guess. They came to share, welcome, comfort, guide.

More like a welcoming than visiting team. They surrounded her like a wall. I was behind her and I felt them streaming in at her front and sides, a couple feet out from her body. Like brilliant stars dancing downward and then back up.



I wonder how long they've been visiting. Wonder what they're telling her about heaven.

"In this moment, I can say that what would make me feel like I've done my job on earth is if I mastered an understanding of the interrelatedness of the 12 dimensions; the ways and means of how crystals, Reiki and other alternative energy healing techniques work; past lives...etc., etc..."

I wrote that on Wednesday, March 28, 2007.

Bold, huh?
It comes to mind again today.

I'm fasting. Again.

Usually, I have something I want and then I turn in and "hear" when and what to fast along with prayer to make something happen. Kinda like a prescription. "God, I'd like a new home...huh?...fast, you say....fast for ten Fridays? done." And then, voila...a home! Not kidding!

Except, there's this other thing that happens when I fast. I lose weight. Sure one of the two pounds is back the next day, but when done week after week, versus when I don't do it week after week...fasting one day a week (water and tea only for 24-30 hours, gets long term results).

So the last couple weeks, post New Year's resolutions, I decide I just want to take on fasting for the weight management aspect. But I can't. I can't just fast and not pray, too.

Only, there's nothing I'm motivated to ask for. Go figure. Not saying I got all I could ever want, but there's nothing I'm moved to ask for just to be asking for something. My experience is that you'll be allowed to get it. It's just that when you ask, in my experience mind you, God hands it to you. When you grab hold, it's yours. The price tag, though, is underneath.

"God, I'd like a relationship that works."
"No problem. Fast 20 Mondays."
I'll tell you this. When you fast and pray. You really are in a space to confront yourself and hear God's voice.
And, yes, I'm very much in love with Mr. 20 Mondays. Thank you, God!!!

When I can't think of anything I want, I decide to dedicate my fast. I dedicated my last one to Mr. 20 Mondays, aka Steve. My prayers for him were answered.

This morning, I decided to do something new again. This time I asked God what I should pray for. Boy oh boy. Wasn't expecting it, but how did I not? He suggested praying for the world.

"The whole world???!"

Long story still longer, I did. But it was confronting. I had to confront that deep down, or maybe not even so deep, I didn't really think the world could work. Cynical? Just a bit. People never learn, governments always do the wrong thing, and love rarely triumphs. I didn't realize just how jaded I was. I knew I was jaded. Just didn't see how much so.

A day of prayer for planet earth.

Those books I'm always talking about writing. I'd forgotten that it was an opportunity to fulfill on my own fulfillment.

I'd forgotten that it was worth writing because what matters to me is worth sharing. It's worth sharing because the world is worth healing.

I'd forgotten that God loves this world, whether I do or not.

And I'd forgotten I love it too! The whole of it. It's imperfect governments, its irresponsible but still-striving human beings. It's easy to love dolphins, whales, mountains, wind and sea. Easy to love double rainbow days, buzzing bees, sunsets and even super-early sunrises. Harder to love the presence of hate, ignorance, greed and intolerance.

Fasting and praying for the whole world forced me to imagine a world that works. I imagined the world the way God knows it could it be. A world that works. A world of love.