As we dance with a Greater Mind in the daily creation of our realities we become pure potential. This idea is the foundation of Positive Goal Setting, Masterminding, Treasure Mapping and others practices. So why does it seem that as we near the fulfillment of a dream it can appear as our worst nightmare?
It is because the person who asks for a thing is never ready to receive it. If we were, we would already have it. We are always in some state of growth, awakening to new levels of awareness. Take for example a child influenced by a courtroom television series. The program plants a seed of desire to become a lawyer. Over the years the child carries this seed in its heart until he or she finally stands before the doors of the university that will offer the fertile ground for its growth.
Yet as it seems the dream is being realized, along comes the rude realities of algebra, philosophy and computer sciences besides the various classes on law that one would expect to study. Compound this by the years of study, responsibilities of economics added to the burden of balancing it all and the light of the dream can begin to fade into a gray nightmare. Using the example of a child is a bit extreme yet to some extent each of us is new and naïve as we begin to weave the magic fibers of a dream come true.
Just as a dream is made up of fibers we are not a one-dimensional entity. We are physical, emotional, mental and spiritual. Our cells have long and short-term memory, our brain stores experiences that are conscious as well as unknown to us. Every experience, every authority has left its imprint on us with each event creating an agenda or influence of its own. In addition there are many different aspects of WHO we are and we seldom look past the most obvious reason for our desire. It’s like a spider sitting in the middle of a web; every thread an influence in our lives.
These deep thoughts are the distraction that my mind offers in helping me to evade the study of Spanish. Just like the story above, I once had a childhood dream to speak Spanish but surrendered my desire to authorities that language and grammar where not my strong points. Even though I accepted their assessment the tiny seed was planted and laid dormant in my heart.
Living in the rural Midwest offered little outside support yet I felt myself drawn to Latin music and Latin dance. Life choices kept me busy and buried in responsibility until finally twenty years later my choices took me to Florida and natural health studies. As a practicing naturopath my list of clients grew I found more and more of them were from Central or South American countries where herbal remedies were a natural part of medicine.
This contact awakened the sleeping seed, but the child inside me remembered that I was not smart enough to learn another language and so I tried to hush the awakening seed. Yet the seed was awakened and part of its germination process was to reach for light.
It took ten more years but here I am living in a Spanish community in Honduras. Sometimes my head hurts from trying to absorb this new language and I often feel like I am on overload. Still that’s when I hang on to the reminder that my dream has come true, possibly in the only way I will allow it. And that sense of gratitude brings light into the grayness and I see my dream becoming reality.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Motherless
Mother’s Day without Mother
My mother passed away in June of 2005 and each holiday that followed was a first time experience: her birthday two weeks after her passing, Thanksgiving, and then Christmas without her, etc. I don’t mean to give the impression that she and I were close. We had good experiences but our head-to-head relationship was never chummy and often placed weeks of no contact between us. Nevertheless, for fifty seven years of my life she was always there like the perennial grass. And like the grass, sometimes attention and maintenance were demanded and occasionally it would give me the itch, yet there had never been a time in my life that it wasn’t there.
When the first Mother’s day rolled around, Mom had been gone for almost a year but the day dedicated to mothers was a pointed reminder of her passing. As I wondered how I would chose to deal with this day my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. It was a young woman I knew, calling to connect with someone who would understand her pain. This twenty-one year old had lost her mother in Hawai’i within minutes of my mother’s death three thousand miles away in the Ozark Mountains; this loss was one more link we shared in our friendship.
I listened as she processed through the deep void she was feeling. As I heard my voice offering support and comfort, shadowy memories of other phone conversations passed through my awareness. How many times had my mother coached me through difficulties? The consoling reassurance that I was offering was a legacy that acted as a memorial to my mother. In reaching out to me, this young woman had given me a gift; a positive way to fill the void that the passing mother always leaves. The gift was service.
Since then it has become my habit to give a gift to mothers who seem forgotten with some small token such as flowers, baked things, or rarities that I pick when I travel. Just like that phone call was to me, a surprise contact and an unexpected gift, I try in my own way to help others feel remembered and appreciated on the day that is set aside to honor them as mothers.
My mother passed away in June of 2005 and each holiday that followed was a first time experience: her birthday two weeks after her passing, Thanksgiving, and then Christmas without her, etc. I don’t mean to give the impression that she and I were close. We had good experiences but our head-to-head relationship was never chummy and often placed weeks of no contact between us. Nevertheless, for fifty seven years of my life she was always there like the perennial grass. And like the grass, sometimes attention and maintenance were demanded and occasionally it would give me the itch, yet there had never been a time in my life that it wasn’t there.
When the first Mother’s day rolled around, Mom had been gone for almost a year but the day dedicated to mothers was a pointed reminder of her passing. As I wondered how I would chose to deal with this day my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. It was a young woman I knew, calling to connect with someone who would understand her pain. This twenty-one year old had lost her mother in Hawai’i within minutes of my mother’s death three thousand miles away in the Ozark Mountains; this loss was one more link we shared in our friendship.
I listened as she processed through the deep void she was feeling. As I heard my voice offering support and comfort, shadowy memories of other phone conversations passed through my awareness. How many times had my mother coached me through difficulties? The consoling reassurance that I was offering was a legacy that acted as a memorial to my mother. In reaching out to me, this young woman had given me a gift; a positive way to fill the void that the passing mother always leaves. The gift was service.
Since then it has become my habit to give a gift to mothers who seem forgotten with some small token such as flowers, baked things, or rarities that I pick when I travel. Just like that phone call was to me, a surprise contact and an unexpected gift, I try in my own way to help others feel remembered and appreciated on the day that is set aside to honor them as mothers.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Following in the Footsteps of the Maya
It never ceases to raise eyebrows when I mention that my husband, Ordin and I have moved to the Central American country of Honduras. Many folks presume it was because of U.S. politics; some believe we were pursuing affordable retirement; while others assume we wanted to reduce distance from our Hawai’i home to family in the States. Though each of these reasons influenced our decision, only a handful of people would appreciate the undefined energies that have drawn me here.
It was around December of 2003 that subtle forces gave-up being subtle and yanked the rug from beneath my feet. I had just returned from a ten day spirit walk with Mayan Elders through ancient ruins in Guatemala and Honduras. The pilgrimage was during the Harmonic Concordance where six planets formed a Grand Sextile. I was told this would create a star gate. Having turned fifty-five that year, it seemed an auspicious time. If a star gate was going to open in a sacred triad of Mayan places, I wanted to be there.
The return home found me questioning what I had gleaned from the experience. Days of riding on overcrowded buses, drenched from torrential rains, and fatigued from keeping pace with a seventy year old Mayan, imparted greater effect on me than any slight influence from the ethers. I teach spiritual principles, but like many people, I still stumble over my own agenda. Dirty laundry and lists of client phone calls demanded my attention, yet the energies that brought me to sit with the Elders were still at work. They needed for me to stay attuned. So, what was the best way to keep me still and listening? A fall and torn a ligament.
Weeks of sitting with my elevated leg gave ample time to appraise the Guatemalan experience, review my journal, and meditate. Flashes of insight visited my mind. One image was a man walking down the driveway to buy our house. Selling the house was an idea we had previously discussed since the market was high, but where would we go? Hawai’i leaves an impression difficult to replace. The Universe seemed to anticipate this hesitation and so a bulldozer arrived to ravage the acre of jungle beside our home. It was our confirmation; it was time to go.
About that time Ordin returned from the weekly Hilo market filled with stories of life in Central America. It had become popular with Europeans and Americans over the last few years. “Humm.” I thought, “The land of stone, where the eagle meets the condor.” I had never considered moving outside the U.S. but it could be worth exploring. We dusted off the office globe and scanned the multicolored shapes to renew our knowledge of C.A. geography. We both loved the warm waters of the Gulf and Caribbean so we focused on countries bordering those waters with easy access to the States. We narrowed it down a bit but how would we choose? As I surfed the net I became vaguely aware that a tune kept whispering to my mind. It seemed faintly familiar but I could not find words for it. As my daily research continued so did the melody until its insistence finally broke through the resistance of distraction. What had seemed like a tune was actually a rhythm. It came from the chant my Hawaiian kupuna had taught me; one that asks for direction from the ancients. And so I gave it voice.
.
From that point there was no singularly profound event that occurred as we completed our steps of relocation, yet there were fascinating synchronicities. Among these we connected with Honduran people in the States and found our dream home with the first search on the internet. Still, I cannot tell you why I am here. Is it earth changes, my Elders, or energies related to the star gate? I do not know. However, I have learned to be more aware when I ask for guidance. When I feel lost and seek direction I walk out the rear gate to the river behind our home. It is a channel that connects the Nombre de Dios Mountains to the Caribbean one block from our house. I call on the Mayan spirits of the four directions and offer them the chant of the old ones; then I wait.
It was around December of 2003 that subtle forces gave-up being subtle and yanked the rug from beneath my feet. I had just returned from a ten day spirit walk with Mayan Elders through ancient ruins in Guatemala and Honduras. The pilgrimage was during the Harmonic Concordance where six planets formed a Grand Sextile. I was told this would create a star gate. Having turned fifty-five that year, it seemed an auspicious time. If a star gate was going to open in a sacred triad of Mayan places, I wanted to be there.
The return home found me questioning what I had gleaned from the experience. Days of riding on overcrowded buses, drenched from torrential rains, and fatigued from keeping pace with a seventy year old Mayan, imparted greater effect on me than any slight influence from the ethers. I teach spiritual principles, but like many people, I still stumble over my own agenda. Dirty laundry and lists of client phone calls demanded my attention, yet the energies that brought me to sit with the Elders were still at work. They needed for me to stay attuned. So, what was the best way to keep me still and listening? A fall and torn a ligament.
Weeks of sitting with my elevated leg gave ample time to appraise the Guatemalan experience, review my journal, and meditate. Flashes of insight visited my mind. One image was a man walking down the driveway to buy our house. Selling the house was an idea we had previously discussed since the market was high, but where would we go? Hawai’i leaves an impression difficult to replace. The Universe seemed to anticipate this hesitation and so a bulldozer arrived to ravage the acre of jungle beside our home. It was our confirmation; it was time to go.
About that time Ordin returned from the weekly Hilo market filled with stories of life in Central America. It had become popular with Europeans and Americans over the last few years. “Humm.” I thought, “The land of stone, where the eagle meets the condor.” I had never considered moving outside the U.S. but it could be worth exploring. We dusted off the office globe and scanned the multicolored shapes to renew our knowledge of C.A. geography. We both loved the warm waters of the Gulf and Caribbean so we focused on countries bordering those waters with easy access to the States. We narrowed it down a bit but how would we choose? As I surfed the net I became vaguely aware that a tune kept whispering to my mind. It seemed faintly familiar but I could not find words for it. As my daily research continued so did the melody until its insistence finally broke through the resistance of distraction. What had seemed like a tune was actually a rhythm. It came from the chant my Hawaiian kupuna had taught me; one that asks for direction from the ancients. And so I gave it voice.
.
From that point there was no singularly profound event that occurred as we completed our steps of relocation, yet there were fascinating synchronicities. Among these we connected with Honduran people in the States and found our dream home with the first search on the internet. Still, I cannot tell you why I am here. Is it earth changes, my Elders, or energies related to the star gate? I do not know. However, I have learned to be more aware when I ask for guidance. When I feel lost and seek direction I walk out the rear gate to the river behind our home. It is a channel that connects the Nombre de Dios Mountains to the Caribbean one block from our house. I call on the Mayan spirits of the four directions and offer them the chant of the old ones; then I wait.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Happiness?
Someone once asked me what I wanted of life and I said “to be happy.” I realize now how naïve that answer was. Happiness is up to the individual since if we ever base it on anyone else the rug can be pulled from beneath our feet. I believe happiness comes with having a dream for our life and striving to pursue that dream. The effort makes us happy...since often once we have achieved the end the moment of glory is short lived and we are looking for the next challenge.
My answer for that question now would be, to continually amaze myself.
My answer for that question now would be, to continually amaze myself.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Retirement: a dream job.
Several people think I am retired. Retired; who’s got time to retire? I still work, but now I have the luxury of putting my attention solely on what I want to do instead of what I have to do.
It must be the ol’ German work ethic in my blood that rubs the word “retirement” wrong way against my grain so I finally decided to look it up in the dictionary. Possibly I had a wrong impression of the word. I dug out our twenty-year-old Webster and started riffling though the alphabetical listings until my eyes landed on retire. Of the ten definitions only the last five were devoted to withdrawing from the workforce or advanced age. The first few actually impressed me as my current lifestyle: to go away, retreat, or withdraw to a private, sheltered or secluded place.
Well, you can’t really call being part of a Honduran neighborhood “secluded” but the months of no phone, limited internet and language difference did limit the number of people who tried to communicate with me. My Spanish speaking neighbors enjoy our short communications which have grown beyond weather and animals as my vocabulary has expanded. After years of doing what I needed to do for others I now put my wants first.
Since Honduras labor is so inexpensive we easily afford to pay a cook/housekeeper and caretaker a very good salary to keep everything in tip/top shape. Meanwhile I continue to study with my Mayan Elders, write, and learn from the Garifuna healers. Add to this some beach time, visiting with neighbors and traveling to the States to hold workshops and I stay busy doing the things I love.
You know, I kind of like this new career... this retirement thing.
It must be the ol’ German work ethic in my blood that rubs the word “retirement” wrong way against my grain so I finally decided to look it up in the dictionary. Possibly I had a wrong impression of the word. I dug out our twenty-year-old Webster and started riffling though the alphabetical listings until my eyes landed on retire. Of the ten definitions only the last five were devoted to withdrawing from the workforce or advanced age. The first few actually impressed me as my current lifestyle: to go away, retreat, or withdraw to a private, sheltered or secluded place.
Well, you can’t really call being part of a Honduran neighborhood “secluded” but the months of no phone, limited internet and language difference did limit the number of people who tried to communicate with me. My Spanish speaking neighbors enjoy our short communications which have grown beyond weather and animals as my vocabulary has expanded. After years of doing what I needed to do for others I now put my wants first.
Since Honduras labor is so inexpensive we easily afford to pay a cook/housekeeper and caretaker a very good salary to keep everything in tip/top shape. Meanwhile I continue to study with my Mayan Elders, write, and learn from the Garifuna healers. Add to this some beach time, visiting with neighbors and traveling to the States to hold workshops and I stay busy doing the things I love.
You know, I kind of like this new career... this retirement thing.
Monday, February 4, 2008
To Each His Own (dream)
We sat among the others in the long row of tables under the manaca. We were the newcomers. The twenty some people gathered were from various parts of the globe but the common thread that brought us together was that we were each emigrants to Honduras. Some had come to the country to retire, others were still exploring while a few, like my husband Ordin and I, were seeking new opportunities since we don’t know how to retire.
I felt locked into a time warp as I slid into the chair surrounded by English speaking companions. How long had it been since I was able to relax and follow a table of conversation. My mind released the tension of concentration as I turned off the need to translate Spanish words into English concepts. Listening became easy once more. As I followed the conversation I learned that some of the group had been residents of Honduras for ten years or more while others only months. It took the “newbie” shine off as we confessed to almost three years.
My husband and I sat at the end of the table with other more recent migrates. Each couple had a story of why they felt drawn to Honduras and a dream for their future. The fire of excitement and adventure lit their faces and shone in their eyes as each shared their vision. At the other end of the table sat the more seasoned transplants. Their conversation was not about dreams for the future but consisted mainly of tales from past experiences when gringos were more of a rarity.
As I watched the faces and listened to the exchanges going on at each end of the table I became aware that the veterans did not have the same fire that was so apparent with the other. Most were pleasant with a spark of good cheer but the light of a dream burning in their hearts seemed missing. Was their dream lost among the challenges of fitting in or was their dream forgotten before they came here? As I sat between these two factions I was reminded of how empty a life can be for those who have no dream.
Great Spirit, let me always hold tight to a dream as well as my sense of humor. They are essential to my happiness.
I felt locked into a time warp as I slid into the chair surrounded by English speaking companions. How long had it been since I was able to relax and follow a table of conversation. My mind released the tension of concentration as I turned off the need to translate Spanish words into English concepts. Listening became easy once more. As I followed the conversation I learned that some of the group had been residents of Honduras for ten years or more while others only months. It took the “newbie” shine off as we confessed to almost three years.
My husband and I sat at the end of the table with other more recent migrates. Each couple had a story of why they felt drawn to Honduras and a dream for their future. The fire of excitement and adventure lit their faces and shone in their eyes as each shared their vision. At the other end of the table sat the more seasoned transplants. Their conversation was not about dreams for the future but consisted mainly of tales from past experiences when gringos were more of a rarity.
As I watched the faces and listened to the exchanges going on at each end of the table I became aware that the veterans did not have the same fire that was so apparent with the other. Most were pleasant with a spark of good cheer but the light of a dream burning in their hearts seemed missing. Was their dream lost among the challenges of fitting in or was their dream forgotten before they came here? As I sat between these two factions I was reminded of how empty a life can be for those who have no dream.
Great Spirit, let me always hold tight to a dream as well as my sense of humor. They are essential to my happiness.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
My back yard Eden
don Cesar is out in the yard raking, pruneing and fertilizing. As I sit at my computer I can see him working accompanied by a neice and nephew. He is called Tio (uncle) by many of the neighborhood children. He is a man of great patience.
As I see the effects of his presense on our beautiful 3/4 acre yard, I feel so blessed that he was part of my dream. I did not intentually create HIM so to speak, but after 5 years of managing an acre of jungle with only the help of Ordin and my friend Flo, I knew that the nightmare of maintence we had created had to have a positive effect; it was in knowing that I NEVER wanted to do that again.
As I see the effects of his presense on our beautiful 3/4 acre yard, I feel so blessed that he was part of my dream. I did not intentually create HIM so to speak, but after 5 years of managing an acre of jungle with only the help of Ordin and my friend Flo, I knew that the nightmare of maintence we had created had to have a positive effect; it was in knowing that I NEVER wanted to do that again.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
What dreamers often do...
A television inteview that I had the privilage to be part of during a book tour in Phoenix was called Following Your Dream. Since authors will grab any chance at publicity I had said "Yes" before catching the theme of the program; my ego had assumed it was about my book. During the pre show preping I was surprised when I finally allowed the subject of the program to register but then realized, yes, I was living a dream and that was the essence of the book. However, it took someone else to point it out.
That got me wondering, just how long ago I had decided that this was the direction I wanted my life to go and whether all the aspects of it (those not my favorite) are also part of my creation. Do the unplanned events reflect a portion of my design, as well?
I've been intriqued with the idea of Blogging for a while but intimidated as to how to start or on what subject matter, and then it came...Living the Dream.
My dream has been to live a simple life. I love the ocean but need to be near mountains and I want warm weather. I don't know how to NOT work but I want to name my hours. I want to work for the joy of it and not to just survive. Two years ago my husband and I moved to the Caribbean side of Honduras and I started writing. It is a dream come true
I invite you to share your dream as I continue to process mine through the entries in this blog. You'll learn a bit about the many facets of living out a dream in Honduras but I hope this blog becomes a place where people give themselves permission to dream.
That got me wondering, just how long ago I had decided that this was the direction I wanted my life to go and whether all the aspects of it (those not my favorite) are also part of my creation. Do the unplanned events reflect a portion of my design, as well?
I've been intriqued with the idea of Blogging for a while but intimidated as to how to start or on what subject matter, and then it came...Living the Dream.
My dream has been to live a simple life. I love the ocean but need to be near mountains and I want warm weather. I don't know how to NOT work but I want to name my hours. I want to work for the joy of it and not to just survive. Two years ago my husband and I moved to the Caribbean side of Honduras and I started writing. It is a dream come true
I invite you to share your dream as I continue to process mine through the entries in this blog. You'll learn a bit about the many facets of living out a dream in Honduras but I hope this blog becomes a place where people give themselves permission to dream.
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