I love to allow others to make the prayer for me...
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
The Story of Ruth
While I was waiting in the front entrance of the nursing home for my elderly friend, the empty living room on my right attracted my attention for some reason. I had about five minutes or so before my friend would be ready and I moved toward the room to get a better look. As I entered I saw a small, frail woman sitting in a wheelchair in the corner of the room, hidden from view.
It was “Her.” It was the one that my friend talked about, the one who is 106 years old. I had, in fact, heard of her before and knew that she had been a celebrated landscape photographer when she was a much younger woman. In her 80s she made portraits of children. I was excited to meet her. I wanted to know her name.
I knelt down in front of her as she took my right hand in hers. I had been told that she does not talk anymore because she is “out of it”. Many of the people living in this home were seemingly separated from the reality of the present moment. So I didn’t question it.
She held my hand tightly as we stared into each other’s eyes. Hers were blue as are mine. What else might we have in common? I was mesmerized by her eyes. They were ancient and red-rimmed. I imagined that I could see her soul shining through her eyes. I was certain she could see mine.
But it was her hands that held my soul in awe. The veins in her hands were prominent. Her fingers seemed to be literally skin and bones, yet the strength in her grip was real, very old and very real. As we continued to stare into each other’s eyes, a strong curiosity about her life journeyed through my mind:
What had these hands done since they were the hands of an infant in 1904? Did that tiny hand clutch her mother’s pinky finger as her mother sang a lullaby? Did she suck her fist or her thumb for comfort? Did she rub her eyes with her hands when she was tired?
How old was she when she first reached out and away from herself in exploration? How old was she when she mastered feeding herself with her fingers? Was she right handed or left handed?
When she was a child did she use her hands to play with dolls or balls? Did she like to dig for worms? Or color? How did she hold her pencil and what did her early handwriting look like? When did she learn to write her name? What was her grown-up handwriting like? Did she like to write letters to far away friends and relatives?
Did she ever learn to play the piano? Did she like to lick her fingers when they were sticky with cake batter? Did she bite her nails or pick her nose? Did the back of her hand ever get slapped because she was naughty? Did the back of her hand ever get kissed by her father after he told her he loved her?
Did she feed and water the animals or sew quilts? Or both? Did these hands ever pick pole beans for supper or arrange flowers cut from the garden she lovingly tended all summer? Or did she collect wild flowers and butterflies and carefully pin them to a board with the genus and species printed below, by her own hand?
Did she work in the fields or in a factory or did she go to school holding book after book in her eager hands? She was only 14 during World War I. How did she use her hands when she was 14?
Women in this country won the right to vote in August 1920. She was 16 in 1920. Did she hold signs in her hands that demanded a woman’s right to vote? Had she ever voted? Where would she put her mark if she could vote today?
How old was she the first time she made love with an adoring partner and how did she caress that lover with her hands? Had she ever been married? Was she gentle with her children or was she impatient and harsh? Could she tell they had a fever by touching their bellies? Did she stroke their hair or rub their backs with a generous touch when they were upset? Or was she hesitant to touch them for some reason? Did she work outside of her home with her hands as well as tend a family? Maybe she has never held a baby in her hands.
Perhaps she preferred to stay celibate and unmarried; a “spinster” because she had ambitions beyond her time; because she loved photography too much to stay home. Was she content to live alone? She was called to the beauty and the power of the ocean. What was the subject of her very first photograph?
How did she use her hands to focus the lens on her camera to capture that image she saw as magnificent? Did she skillfully develop the film in the darkroom of her studio . . . with her own two hands?
Was she a great homemaker or did she have more important things to do with her hands? How many pies had she made with these hands? How many loaves of bread had she kneaded on the kitchen counter with care? Did she put up peaches and pickles and tomatoes for later?
Would she scrub her kitchen floor on her hands and knees or would it not ever occur to her to do such a thing? Did she ever have a cat sit on her lap so she could stroke soft fur with her weary hands on a cold wintry night? How did her hands get so strong?
She was in her late 30s during World War II. Was she in the war or did she stay home and crochet bandages for the wounded soldiers like her grandmother used to do? Maybe she worked in a factory and was a riveter mastering powerful tools with her hands.
How did she use her hands to sooth her worry or stress? Would she rub her forehead or twirl her thumbs? Did her hands ache with arthritis when the weather changed? How did she make the pain go away? How did she put on lotion?
I know that Ruth liked to hold hands, because her grip on me stayed true. I continued to wonder:
Did she clap her hands when she was happy or surprised? Did she cover her mouth when she sneezed? Had she ever had her palm read by a psychic? Did anything from that reading come to pass?
Would she shake her finger at her apprentices when they made a mistake? Did she ever point a finger at something she thought was special? Had she ever given anyone “the finger” in frustration or anger?
Did she still like to eat certain foods with her fingers, like when she was a baby just learning to grasp? I like to eat lettuce with my fingers. Did she ever like to do that too?
Did she ever wear rings . . . or nail polish?
How about lip stick or face powder; did she put these things on, using her hands to make herself feel pretty? How did she brush her hair? Did she ever hold a cigarette? Or smoke a pipe by cradling the pipe in the palm of her hand?
How did she hold her hands when she received a gift?
How did she hold her hands when she prayed?
As we continued to stare into each other’s eyes I asked her name.
She readily answered me saying, “Ruth. My name is Ruth.” For some reason I was not surprised she could be so present with me. I said, “I know that you used to take beautiful photographs.” She stared at me. “I did. I did do that.” Ruth knew she had done that. It was a statement she just made, not a question in her mind. “I did that” she said clearly. Suddenly she raised the back of my right hand to her lips and kissed it deliberately closing her eyes for just a moment.
Then she seemed to fade back into the place in her mind she had been dwelling before our five minutes together. “Thank you Ruth,” I said quietly knowing she may not be able to hear me. I will welcome the day I will look into another’s eyes and proudly say “I did that.” At that moment a nurse came and wheeled Ruth away to continue on with the day. Her life here in this place appeared to be so mundane. Mine will never be the same again.
It was “Her.” It was the one that my friend talked about, the one who is 106 years old. I had, in fact, heard of her before and knew that she had been a celebrated landscape photographer when she was a much younger woman. In her 80s she made portraits of children. I was excited to meet her. I wanted to know her name.
I knelt down in front of her as she took my right hand in hers. I had been told that she does not talk anymore because she is “out of it”. Many of the people living in this home were seemingly separated from the reality of the present moment. So I didn’t question it.
She held my hand tightly as we stared into each other’s eyes. Hers were blue as are mine. What else might we have in common? I was mesmerized by her eyes. They were ancient and red-rimmed. I imagined that I could see her soul shining through her eyes. I was certain she could see mine.
But it was her hands that held my soul in awe. The veins in her hands were prominent. Her fingers seemed to be literally skin and bones, yet the strength in her grip was real, very old and very real. As we continued to stare into each other’s eyes, a strong curiosity about her life journeyed through my mind:
What had these hands done since they were the hands of an infant in 1904? Did that tiny hand clutch her mother’s pinky finger as her mother sang a lullaby? Did she suck her fist or her thumb for comfort? Did she rub her eyes with her hands when she was tired?
How old was she when she first reached out and away from herself in exploration? How old was she when she mastered feeding herself with her fingers? Was she right handed or left handed?
When she was a child did she use her hands to play with dolls or balls? Did she like to dig for worms? Or color? How did she hold her pencil and what did her early handwriting look like? When did she learn to write her name? What was her grown-up handwriting like? Did she like to write letters to far away friends and relatives?
Did she ever learn to play the piano? Did she like to lick her fingers when they were sticky with cake batter? Did she bite her nails or pick her nose? Did the back of her hand ever get slapped because she was naughty? Did the back of her hand ever get kissed by her father after he told her he loved her?
Did she feed and water the animals or sew quilts? Or both? Did these hands ever pick pole beans for supper or arrange flowers cut from the garden she lovingly tended all summer? Or did she collect wild flowers and butterflies and carefully pin them to a board with the genus and species printed below, by her own hand?
Did she work in the fields or in a factory or did she go to school holding book after book in her eager hands? She was only 14 during World War I. How did she use her hands when she was 14?
Women in this country won the right to vote in August 1920. She was 16 in 1920. Did she hold signs in her hands that demanded a woman’s right to vote? Had she ever voted? Where would she put her mark if she could vote today?
How old was she the first time she made love with an adoring partner and how did she caress that lover with her hands? Had she ever been married? Was she gentle with her children or was she impatient and harsh? Could she tell they had a fever by touching their bellies? Did she stroke their hair or rub their backs with a generous touch when they were upset? Or was she hesitant to touch them for some reason? Did she work outside of her home with her hands as well as tend a family? Maybe she has never held a baby in her hands.
Perhaps she preferred to stay celibate and unmarried; a “spinster” because she had ambitions beyond her time; because she loved photography too much to stay home. Was she content to live alone? She was called to the beauty and the power of the ocean. What was the subject of her very first photograph?
How did she use her hands to focus the lens on her camera to capture that image she saw as magnificent? Did she skillfully develop the film in the darkroom of her studio . . . with her own two hands?
Was she a great homemaker or did she have more important things to do with her hands? How many pies had she made with these hands? How many loaves of bread had she kneaded on the kitchen counter with care? Did she put up peaches and pickles and tomatoes for later?
Would she scrub her kitchen floor on her hands and knees or would it not ever occur to her to do such a thing? Did she ever have a cat sit on her lap so she could stroke soft fur with her weary hands on a cold wintry night? How did her hands get so strong?
She was in her late 30s during World War II. Was she in the war or did she stay home and crochet bandages for the wounded soldiers like her grandmother used to do? Maybe she worked in a factory and was a riveter mastering powerful tools with her hands.
How did she use her hands to sooth her worry or stress? Would she rub her forehead or twirl her thumbs? Did her hands ache with arthritis when the weather changed? How did she make the pain go away? How did she put on lotion?
I know that Ruth liked to hold hands, because her grip on me stayed true. I continued to wonder:
Did she clap her hands when she was happy or surprised? Did she cover her mouth when she sneezed? Had she ever had her palm read by a psychic? Did anything from that reading come to pass?
Would she shake her finger at her apprentices when they made a mistake? Did she ever point a finger at something she thought was special? Had she ever given anyone “the finger” in frustration or anger?
Did she still like to eat certain foods with her fingers, like when she was a baby just learning to grasp? I like to eat lettuce with my fingers. Did she ever like to do that too?
Did she ever wear rings . . . or nail polish?
How about lip stick or face powder; did she put these things on, using her hands to make herself feel pretty? How did she brush her hair? Did she ever hold a cigarette? Or smoke a pipe by cradling the pipe in the palm of her hand?
How did she hold her hands when she received a gift?
How did she hold her hands when she prayed?
As we continued to stare into each other’s eyes I asked her name.
She readily answered me saying, “Ruth. My name is Ruth.” For some reason I was not surprised she could be so present with me. I said, “I know that you used to take beautiful photographs.” She stared at me. “I did. I did do that.” Ruth knew she had done that. It was a statement she just made, not a question in her mind. “I did that” she said clearly. Suddenly she raised the back of my right hand to her lips and kissed it deliberately closing her eyes for just a moment.
Then she seemed to fade back into the place in her mind she had been dwelling before our five minutes together. “Thank you Ruth,” I said quietly knowing she may not be able to hear me. I will welcome the day I will look into another’s eyes and proudly say “I did that.” At that moment a nurse came and wheeled Ruth away to continue on with the day. Her life here in this place appeared to be so mundane. Mine will never be the same again.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
How to Survive as an Introvert in Today’s Information Overload: Online, at Home and Everywhere Else
How can an introvert survive in today’s fast paced, ever changing, dynamic, information dense, ultra-stimulating, media saturated environment?
Here is a clue: It is not necessary to acquiesce to the dominant extroverted way of doing things. The Artful Pause, as I call it, is as critical to our happiness and social survival to develop as twittering, face-booking and being linked-in is to our business success.
The Artful Pause involves 8 simple steps.
1. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
Practice forgiveness for yourself and others.
Release them to their life as you embrace your own
3. See the humor in life and Laugh out loud
4. Appreciate Beauty. It is all around you.
5. Nurture solitude. Enter into silence without apology
6. Know what you know. Acknowledge yourself for being willing to not know. This is wisdom
7. Give and receive Love.
Be out in Nature whenever you can. Nature softens us and reminds us to keep things in proper perspective
When you engage the creativity inherent in these steps being an introvert in an extrovert-dominated world becomes a delight rather than a fright.
Hi, my name is Martha and I am an introvert.
Contrary to what you may think, I am not shy (even though I have called myself shy for lack of a better description of my inner reality). As I understand it, shyness emanates from social anxiety or nervousness when one is the focus of attention. Not my problem. Growing up in a family of seven children, I loved attention. I am not arrogant. Although my frequent silence may bewilder the extrovert and be misinterpreted as such. I am not selfish or self centered. I have fine social skills and am considered a leader in my world. I am a forward, creative and “outside of the box” thinker.
What makes me an introvert is that I need silence. I need to be by myself to recharge my interpersonal battery. My husband, an extrovert, and I have bounced this difference between us around for 30 years: “You need to be alone must mean you don’t want to be with me!” “No, it just means I need to be alone...big difference”. I have discovered over the years that being with people without pause drains me: mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. I need to remove myself and be alone to think without the stimulation of the extroverts style. This is not good or bad; right or wrong. It is just the way it is for me. I am completely comfortable being alone.
If you are at all like me you simply love thinking and following a thought into the outer atmosphere. Perhaps, like me, you can sit for hours watching a river as the ice goes out. You are content watching as a tree drops her leaves or as a robin builds her nest. You are actually intrigued and enchanted by such things. The conversations you love to have are about the mysteries of life, the humorous ways life tricks us into lightheartedness and the ways love finds a way to guide us towards joy and forgiveness. Chit-chat may bore you to distraction and turn your thoughts inward to more meaningful (to you) musings.
Here are the steps of the Artful Pause again:
1. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
Practice forgiveness for yourself and others.
Release them to their life as you embrace your own
3. See the humor in life and Laugh out loud
4. Appreciate Beauty. It is all around you.
5. Nurture solitude. Enter into silence without apology
6. Know what you know. Acknowledge yourself for being willing to not know. This is wisdom
7. Give and receive Love.
Be out in Nature whenever you can. Nature softens us and reminds us to keep things in proper perspective
By following these steps you will embrace your introversion and develop joyful expression of your true nature. You will be relaxed, refreshed and renewed as you enter into personal and business relationships. You will appreciate your self and your unique style of relating. You will be less overwhelmed when in the presence of extroverts because you are more centered in your self.
To learn more about the Artful Pause go to www.CircleofLifeCoach.com
Here is a clue: It is not necessary to acquiesce to the dominant extroverted way of doing things. The Artful Pause, as I call it, is as critical to our happiness and social survival to develop as twittering, face-booking and being linked-in is to our business success.
The Artful Pause involves 8 simple steps.
1. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
Practice forgiveness for yourself and others.
Release them to their life as you embrace your own
3. See the humor in life and Laugh out loud
4. Appreciate Beauty. It is all around you.
5. Nurture solitude. Enter into silence without apology
6. Know what you know. Acknowledge yourself for being willing to not know. This is wisdom
7. Give and receive Love.
Be out in Nature whenever you can. Nature softens us and reminds us to keep things in proper perspective
When you engage the creativity inherent in these steps being an introvert in an extrovert-dominated world becomes a delight rather than a fright.
Hi, my name is Martha and I am an introvert.
Contrary to what you may think, I am not shy (even though I have called myself shy for lack of a better description of my inner reality). As I understand it, shyness emanates from social anxiety or nervousness when one is the focus of attention. Not my problem. Growing up in a family of seven children, I loved attention. I am not arrogant. Although my frequent silence may bewilder the extrovert and be misinterpreted as such. I am not selfish or self centered. I have fine social skills and am considered a leader in my world. I am a forward, creative and “outside of the box” thinker.
What makes me an introvert is that I need silence. I need to be by myself to recharge my interpersonal battery. My husband, an extrovert, and I have bounced this difference between us around for 30 years: “You need to be alone must mean you don’t want to be with me!” “No, it just means I need to be alone...big difference”. I have discovered over the years that being with people without pause drains me: mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. I need to remove myself and be alone to think without the stimulation of the extroverts style. This is not good or bad; right or wrong. It is just the way it is for me. I am completely comfortable being alone.
If you are at all like me you simply love thinking and following a thought into the outer atmosphere. Perhaps, like me, you can sit for hours watching a river as the ice goes out. You are content watching as a tree drops her leaves or as a robin builds her nest. You are actually intrigued and enchanted by such things. The conversations you love to have are about the mysteries of life, the humorous ways life tricks us into lightheartedness and the ways love finds a way to guide us towards joy and forgiveness. Chit-chat may bore you to distraction and turn your thoughts inward to more meaningful (to you) musings.
Here are the steps of the Artful Pause again:
1. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
Practice forgiveness for yourself and others.
Release them to their life as you embrace your own
3. See the humor in life and Laugh out loud
4. Appreciate Beauty. It is all around you.
5. Nurture solitude. Enter into silence without apology
6. Know what you know. Acknowledge yourself for being willing to not know. This is wisdom
7. Give and receive Love.
Be out in Nature whenever you can. Nature softens us and reminds us to keep things in proper perspective
By following these steps you will embrace your introversion and develop joyful expression of your true nature. You will be relaxed, refreshed and renewed as you enter into personal and business relationships. You will appreciate your self and your unique style of relating. You will be less overwhelmed when in the presence of extroverts because you are more centered in your self.
To learn more about the Artful Pause go to www.CircleofLifeCoach.com
Monday, February 22, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Ocean Currents Can Keep You Stuck
Go ahead, call me a woman in midlife if you have to, but I have been telling a lot of stories lately of “my life long ago”.
In fact there is a chapter about that very tendency in “How Not to Become a Little Old Lady”. Each of my kids has good naturedly given me that book on separate occasions...hmmmm) oh ya being distracted from the point of the story is in there too.
Ok where was I...
Here’s one of the more recent stories I’ve told.
I was on an Outward Bound course based on Hurricane Island. Hurricane Island sits in the magnificent Penobscot Bay off the coast of Maine. It was summer of 1976 and I was in a group of men and women that spent all 23 days cruising the coast of Maine. We were in a 26 foot long pulling boat (aka row boat). There were 2 instructors and 10 students.
One day we were told to get ourselves from “here to there”.
Aye Aye Captain! All hands on oars! By this point in our course we considered ourselves skilled master yachtsmen. We had been on the water about....5 days already!
All 10 of us students started pulling (aka rowing). And we pulled and we pulled and we pulled and we pulled. But we didn’t move an inch because we were going against an ocean current that was strong and determined as we were.
We stayed in one spot for literally hours and but did not realize it because our newly acquired navigational skills where not that finely tuned. We did notice that the same landmark was in the same place for a long time. There was no discernible progress; none; nada; zilch. Frustration, fatigue and fury were on an even keel with “how mean can two instructors be?”
Have you ever felt like you were hopelessly stuck in a fierce current of life that, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get out of it?
There are a few choices here: You can continue to struggle forever, but remember, “Resistance is futile”. You can continue to struggle until you give up. You can continue to struggle until you pass out. You can cry yourself to sleep.
Believe it or not, there are a few more choices here. The key to change in this situation is to stop fighting the current. You can drop off your charted course and sit it out in an eddy. You can wait for the tide to change so you are riding the current in the direction it is going. You are then effortlessly in the proverbial flow. What a concept. You can acknowledge your place in the universal scheme of things and co-operate, collaborate, enter into relationship with the powerful ocean and navigate the current with information, intelligence, patience and trust.
How? First decide to be different. Then get the support you need to change. Hiring a life coach is one great way to do that. A life coach will help you focus your dreams, goals and desires and design a way to get "from here to there". Begin your exploreation of life coaching at wwww.CircleofLifeCoach.com
In fact there is a chapter about that very tendency in “How Not to Become a Little Old Lady”. Each of my kids has good naturedly given me that book on separate occasions...hmmmm) oh ya being distracted from the point of the story is in there too.
Ok where was I...
Here’s one of the more recent stories I’ve told.
I was on an Outward Bound course based on Hurricane Island. Hurricane Island sits in the magnificent Penobscot Bay off the coast of Maine. It was summer of 1976 and I was in a group of men and women that spent all 23 days cruising the coast of Maine. We were in a 26 foot long pulling boat (aka row boat). There were 2 instructors and 10 students.
One day we were told to get ourselves from “here to there”.
Aye Aye Captain! All hands on oars! By this point in our course we considered ourselves skilled master yachtsmen. We had been on the water about....5 days already!
All 10 of us students started pulling (aka rowing). And we pulled and we pulled and we pulled and we pulled. But we didn’t move an inch because we were going against an ocean current that was strong and determined as we were.
We stayed in one spot for literally hours and but did not realize it because our newly acquired navigational skills where not that finely tuned. We did notice that the same landmark was in the same place for a long time. There was no discernible progress; none; nada; zilch. Frustration, fatigue and fury were on an even keel with “how mean can two instructors be?”
Have you ever felt like you were hopelessly stuck in a fierce current of life that, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get out of it?
There are a few choices here: You can continue to struggle forever, but remember, “Resistance is futile”. You can continue to struggle until you give up. You can continue to struggle until you pass out. You can cry yourself to sleep.
Believe it or not, there are a few more choices here. The key to change in this situation is to stop fighting the current. You can drop off your charted course and sit it out in an eddy. You can wait for the tide to change so you are riding the current in the direction it is going. You are then effortlessly in the proverbial flow. What a concept. You can acknowledge your place in the universal scheme of things and co-operate, collaborate, enter into relationship with the powerful ocean and navigate the current with information, intelligence, patience and trust.
How? First decide to be different. Then get the support you need to change. Hiring a life coach is one great way to do that. A life coach will help you focus your dreams, goals and desires and design a way to get "from here to there". Begin your exploreation of life coaching at wwww.CircleofLifeCoach.com
Friday, January 1, 2010
Sisters! Wake up!
Sisters! Wake up! written by Martha Pasternack upon awakening on a recent morning
Sisters! Wake up! Take a deep breath. Become aware. It’s time to come back into your body from wherever you have been while asleep. It’s time to wake up your body...mind...spirit...soul and dreams.
It’s time to get up! and stretch your spines and bones and muscles, your insight...your courage
Shake off the long cozy slumber of the night. Write down your dreams so you can remember them and share them with an elder.
By putting YOUR voice to YOUR dreams you might understand and be able to manifest your dreams.
Sisters! Wake up! It’s time to greet the sun with your song. It’s time to drink the pure water of life.
Sisters! Wake up! It’s time to get ready to go to work. You have over slept and it is time to relieve your sisters who have worked through the night caring for what we all care about. They are tired and need to rest.
Sisters! Wake up! It is your turn to go to work! It is your turn to be in nature; give and receive love; appreciate beauty; nurture solitude; practice forgiveness; laugh out loud; cry for a vision and cherish what you cherish.
Sisters! Wake up! The alarm has sounded and it’s time to wake up. We need you now. We are hungry. We are thirsty. We are tired. We are getting weary and we need your refreshed and rested energy.
Sisters! Wake up! Wash your eyes out with the pure water of life. Your hair looks great! Now, throw on some jeans and let’s get to work!
There is work to be done! It is time to...heal the beauty of this land, It is time to heal our own hearts. it is time to heal the water, the joy, the love. It’s ok. Do your best. The best you can do is ENOUGH if we all join together
Tease yourself into the safety of alert and joyful lightheartedness. It is time to us all to meet at the table and break our fast from courageous action, self expression and deep trust in each other. Come be with us. Celebrate this new day with your love, your dance, your song, your laughter and your prayer.
Sisters! Wake up! It's time to get up!
Sisters! Wake up! Take a deep breath. Become aware. It’s time to come back into your body from wherever you have been while asleep. It’s time to wake up your body...mind...spirit...soul and dreams.
It’s time to get up! and stretch your spines and bones and muscles, your insight...your courage
Shake off the long cozy slumber of the night. Write down your dreams so you can remember them and share them with an elder.
By putting YOUR voice to YOUR dreams you might understand and be able to manifest your dreams.
Sisters! Wake up! It’s time to greet the sun with your song. It’s time to drink the pure water of life.
Sisters! Wake up! It’s time to get ready to go to work. You have over slept and it is time to relieve your sisters who have worked through the night caring for what we all care about. They are tired and need to rest.
Sisters! Wake up! It is your turn to go to work! It is your turn to be in nature; give and receive love; appreciate beauty; nurture solitude; practice forgiveness; laugh out loud; cry for a vision and cherish what you cherish.
Sisters! Wake up! The alarm has sounded and it’s time to wake up. We need you now. We are hungry. We are thirsty. We are tired. We are getting weary and we need your refreshed and rested energy.
Sisters! Wake up! Wash your eyes out with the pure water of life. Your hair looks great! Now, throw on some jeans and let’s get to work!
There is work to be done! It is time to...heal the beauty of this land, It is time to heal our own hearts. it is time to heal the water, the joy, the love. It’s ok. Do your best. The best you can do is ENOUGH if we all join together
Tease yourself into the safety of alert and joyful lightheartedness. It is time to us all to meet at the table and break our fast from courageous action, self expression and deep trust in each other. Come be with us. Celebrate this new day with your love, your dance, your song, your laughter and your prayer.
Sisters! Wake up! It's time to get up!
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