Patterns and Pauses

Posted on February 13, 2017 by admin

Slowly the ice fort that the snow plow and I have built around my car is disappearing. At times, I take my square sharp shovel and chip away. When it warms up, I slide the snow shovel underneath and open up the passage ways. I am creating a path for easier movement.

The resolve to sit and write, to take time to work through the blocks that have arisen is renewed in me lately. Chipping away at a frustration; building my skills without a particular end game in mind will lead me where I need to go.

The enemy is contentment. I have enough money… if I am careful and don’t stretch my neck out into Middle Class acquisitiveness. I have familiar comfort. But the black out curtain of boredom restricts my light.

At times I yearn for a new environment, one in which I cannot anticipate the path. Exploration, adventure, serendipity are somewhere else.

The well worn path I had trodden is the polished stone walkway of discipline. The habits are the groves I have made. I am working now to get myself down in a chair and develop my focus on creating the adventure in my exploration of language. The time, which has for so many years been a burden upon me, the time of “it doesn’t matter” and “there is nothing you have to do” has been marked with no hands, no click movement of minutes.
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I don’t seek struggle but rather just to deepen my commitment to developing myself. And distraction, entertainment, diversion have been the central pond of my day. I have soaked in it for hours.

I tell myself I am learning as I watch movies. I tell myself I am connecting as I lurk a voyeur to friends on face book. I tell myself I am being careful with my money as I go to three stores to buy one item.

But really, what is it that I wish to discover in my life? That is the question. How can I patiently sit and work through my thoughts, honing ideas, reaching out to new possibilities of internal connection? It is by once again connecting to the clock and going back to work.

It is time.

When weather becomes the truth

Posted on December 18, 2016 by admin

Sometimes we live in our heads, or in our past, or are lost in a scripted narrative someone else has penned. But when each of us opens the door and the percussive wall of cold strikes the entire body, all of the accompanying orchestration of violin thoughts stops. There is only the skin taking the temperature.

extreme weather

The frozen patterns like faces press against the windows partially imprinted on the car. It isn’t until the extreme falls away after turning on the heater that I go back into the droning, circle patterned of flying thoughts.
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Part of the pleasure of walking the icy sidewalk into the howling wind is the weather itself bringing me into the breathing moment. I hear my lungs at work. I see the air warming and steaming out of me. The cold is slapping me out of it. I am only this step, this foot, this warm boot, this creature moving on the ground.

And when I was in Peru and laid in the hammock, I ran sweat slipping my body surfaces like waterfalls on a sculptured hillside. The walk up the path would begin with the skittling thoughts but as I shoved myself against the moist, hot air I recognized that the trailing end of a narrative had melted and disappeared. With several more steps I would begin again but the line of thought dissolved even earlier on until I was released from any interest except my breath and the wall of opposition the tropics pushed against my progress. At times, I felt I was behind myself trying to catch up with the place my body had now moved into.

Extremes of weather hold some fundamental truth. There is only the body, the skin, the breath, the intention of movement and it leaves us free of the embroidered speculations in the mind. It stops us cold.

Kryon, Bruce Lipton and Gregg Braden

Posted on July 4, 2014 by admin

I left my fairy tale bungalow with the roses blooming surround to visit Mount Shasta and Crater Lake recently.

A friend informed me that this area was a highly spiritual place for native Indians.

Standing at the teetering edge of Crater Lake is hyper real. The blues are reminiscent of 1950’s technicolored film scenes. The whites are unearthly floating in lazer blue water and sky. The contrast between the tranquility of the scene and the violence which created this high vibration sight is jarring. Even today, Native Indians and New Age mystics come to interact with the deepest water lake in North America.

My friend, Laura and I stood on the dark rock at the edge. She turned to me and said, “The last time I came here was about twenty years ago on my honeymoon.”

I smiled and looked down at the bottomless water holding sky. “The last time I came here was about twenty years ago on my honeymoon.”

We were both quiet. I searched around inside my body closet for emotions… wondering if I would hit a monster memory or a little demon pain and was finding only calm. I felt good. I felt so opened up and enveloped by the beauty before and beneath me. That was all.

Afterward, I went to the gift shop to buy a tee shirt. I would wear it as a victory emblem. I had not returned to Crater Lake. I was seeing it for the first time free of any past story.

When we arrived in Mount Shasta, our hostess told us her own narrative. We found our place to stay during the conference through the airbnb.com site. Chi is a Japanese. She is a Japanese concert pianist who moved to New York. During the summers she taught short courses at Mount Shasta but it called to her. She left her life in New York behind and moved without a place to live, without a job, without a clear purpose and alone.

One year and six months later she now lives in a house, teaches at nearby institutions, tours with local symphonies.She now has a large and luscious garden which she planted. She found a man who loves her and is her equal in skills, openness and gratitude for their new life. In eighteen months she created an entirely new way of being in the world.

Because she trusted herself, she grew.

When she first moved to Mount Shasta, there was a blizzard that shut down the town for weeks. Her friends in New York thought she was crazy. She thought she might be crazy. Now, She has made a new structured reality to live within and it is far better.

The conference itself was uneven. Some speakers were inspirational… but I always find that a waste of time. I brought my own sparkler spirit. I was inspired to travel, to spend money, to leave my house. Yep.

I was so high school girl giggling in the back of the room when my new friend turned to me. We are both open notebook, furiously scribbling types of people.

“I haven’t got anything in my notebook. Did she say anything?” She said.

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She looked relieved as we both laughed.

So much of the conference was light on actual information. I felt like a sixth grader in a third grade class and my body was unused to sitting for such long periods of time. I stop to analyze my reaction. Am I wrong to feel this way? Is it ego to want to find those beautiful revelations of information that open a person up, that challenge a person’s mind?

I frequently get up and go outside to do some yoga poses and just stare at Mount Shasta. I am yearning to get up onto her pathways, to interact with the spirits purported to be on the mountainside.

Sitting in the dark room barely able to see my notebook, I still persisted in taking notes. As I read them scrawled like a insect trail over the pages, it is like reading from one possessed. I will share a few with you to be puzzled by along with me or to amuse you.

“My baby body cleaning me.
Calling the Elders to be with us.
The Telos beings are crying.
I give this day to all that is divine.
A big white puffy woman like a cloud.
Blah blah blah blah so far nothing. only her visions.”

We are asked to stand facing another participant. I am hit. I am hit hard in the chest. The woman I face appears to me as a severed tree broken off in a storm with no branches left. She is a sharp asymmetrical point. The trunk still lives but she has lost all her foliage. I lean into her and whisper, “It will be alright.” I am telling her the truth. She needs to hope and grow her branches back.

We repeat the exercise with another person and this time the woman I face is surrounded by blossoms. She is surrounded by beautiful, healthy, radiant flowers. I tell her. I say, “You have a blooming garden all around you.” She hugs me and quietly responds, “Thank you.” She knows exactly what I have seen. She knows.

The energy in the room from the 700 people is immense. Some are on walkers, some are large with despair, some are healers or lightworkers. Everyone wants to know how to be better at this, at this being alive, at this walking the earth. There are many, many who are here to find a key to the gate of hope.

One speaker talks about personality types and informs the audience of a web site with a test that will lead them to an analysis of their type. She delineated the types and the percentages of the population that are that mode of person. I know immediately from her description that I am a “reflector.” I am in the 1% of the population whose job is to stay outside. My job is to not join the groups. My job is to not follow others, participate in that which others feel is fun or entertaining. A reflector’s calling is to observe from the distant place and allow others to see who they are. By not becoming part of the social organism, we can remain sociological anthropologist. No question. Absolutely.

My notes at this point say: “Moss growing on a paper cutter blade.”

And then I write a poem about falling in love…. with myself.

to be continued. to be continued.

DIY is it an Illusion?

Posted on November 26, 2013 by admin

Embracing the Power Dragon

This last month there have been so many lessons learned. When Pay Pal made a deposit to my account twice and then had to remove a payment, I flipped the anxiety switch off. Like a current of negative electricity that threatened to run through my mind, the story started to play. Flip the switch.

My thoughts immediately went to a statement which I had read in a library book, Zen and the Art of Falling in Love by Dr. Brenda Shoshanna.

She asked the question, “What is the host and what is the guest.” It was simply put. It got through to me. Is a feeling of being at home, loved, supported and respected the host in my house of emotions? Or is the sense of lack, scarcity, vulnerability the host? Are moments of sorrow, grief, anger, numbness the elements that take up most of my mental floor space? Or do these emotions just visit for a while to a place that is more fulsome and joyous?

So $600 that I had not expected to flow out of my account would leave. First, I said to myself, “That was never your money. You are glad to pay back that which is not yours.” Secondly, I went into my practice of asking, “What are you supposed to learn?”

Going to that place lead me to understand more fully how my relationship with money is less than adult. Do I know how much is in my account as if I were an adult? Am I anticipating payments that must come out such as my house insurance which I had “forgotten” about?

So much of managing my money has been about deprivation because that is what I have become an expert at living. My parents worked four jobs yet when we went shopping my mother would visit every store on both sides of the Columbia river to see what items were cheapest. When she died she still had every receipt for each and every item she had purchased since 1960.

I was in graduate school for an extended period of time and lived with no heat and little money. My way of living has always been as a poor student. With over 2,000 books, I moved from one boarding house to another. The thrift stores provided me with clothing and household items. Each time my life fell apart it cost me thousands of dollars and I had to begin again.

So being cold, underfed and wearing thrift clothing became a sign of competence. It meant I could live within the constraints of my pay check. But this month, I was once again directed in a more powerful mind set. What if you took your assets and managed them more mindfully to allow plenty to flow in?

I went to the bank and sat down with the investment banker. I was reassured that my understanding of the world economy was accurate. I do have two years before inflation will begin. I have two years to pay down my “reverse dowry” line of credit obligation taken out to buy my freedom.

I felt actual fear as I took the money out of the self directed account to allow the bank to manage it. But the jar of coins under the bed attitude was not serving me. The wrap up in a blanket and keep the lights off mentality was not serving me.

It is against my very cautious nature to go out and buy expensive items just to feel powerful. Today, I replaced the stove element on the second hand simple appliance all by myself. It cost $37 and it worked. But I have the heat up and bought some lovely food items on sale.

centered

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It is walking that territory between fear and delusion that is the trick.

I am so proud of myself for the head way (and don’t you just love that word!) that I have made. For the first time since my divorce, I have begun to eat breakfast sitting at the breakfast table. I went through the double financial lessons of house insurance payment and having to pay back $600 without drama. It was a lesson and I took the homework with me to the bank. I called a handy woman to repair the tiles that have not worked properly in the bathroom.

Only quietly, like a whisper down a well, was I hearing the anxious beasty voice telling me I would shrivel and die dehydrated and starved. And as I was watching my mind, I could see that I did not have what I call “push back” on the ego voice. I just left it whimpering in the well.

surrounded by blessings

The other wonderful awakening has come through using the tests for the seeds of intention that I found in the book E2. The first test is to ask the universe for an unexpected/unusual gift. The test was for 48 hours. I noticed my negative, ego voice growing louder and louder. “It is 40 hours now and nothing.” “It is 42 hours now and nothing.”

At 46 hours a friend came to my house with five CD’s some by Liquid Mind. I had heard of the artist and thought I wanted to check him out. And now I am standing with his works in my hand. People bought me coffee, Three polka dotted zipper bags showed up in my mail. An old friend left me with a big bottle of Lavender oil she had crafted from her garden.

So what my lessons have all pointed to this month is a sense that I am using the skills I have worked toward. I have been able in the moment of an event to shut off the negative current, to get down into the structure of the thing and ask, “What am I supposed to learn?”

The biggest realization for me has been that it is not about solving problems. It is about developing technique. I was on the tennis team in high school and spent hours hitting balls that were coming at me fast. Some I had to hit back handed. Some I had to smoothly connect with on the forehand side. Some bounced wildly and the ability to calm the ball down with the surface of my racquet and then send it with intention was necessary.

I understand now that that is exactly what is happening. Balls are coming at you. Lessons are coming at you. They will not stop. Hitting one does not mean there will never be another. It is a deluded mind that thinks, “I will solve this problem in order to solve all problems forever.”

The light came on for me. It is about the skill. Am I standing with my feet balanced holding the centre? Are my hands relaxed? Is my mind calm and alert? As things come toward me, there is no place for negative emotion. As I watch myself, I understand that over time, with intention and patience I am building skills.

How did I reach this place where peace, joy and gratitude are the hosts and lower energies are the guest? It is because of my coaches, because of those who have taught me in books, on you tube. It is because of my friends who have moved forward to live more authentically and fully. It is because of my spirits, angels, guides surrounding me.

I eat at the table. I repair those things which need to be repaired. I watch my financial situation with a more alert eye. I am not a Do It Yourselfer. I have been taught with loving wisdom. I am growing to trust myself and others more fully for the first time in my life. Now where is that screw driver?

Dave with the Diamond, The Language of Love

Posted on September 16, 2013 by admin

As the baking heat of summer abates, I walk along the waterfront. The experience is so much like the last sip of mango juice, the last kiss of a loved one, the fragrance of the remaining rose standing singular on the stretching branch. Knowing that it is drawing to a close makes me open up my senses all the more.

I think to myself, “Soon you will not see the loose, relaxed bodies of family tribes strolling with a shared rhythm. Soon the skin, arms and legs will be hidden away for winter like putting away seasonal clothing, these exposed limbs. Soon the evening air will not be perfumed by the release of fragrant flowers like a retelling of the narrative of the heat soaked day.”

Sunset City Park

It is in the denouement or in the anticipation that we most awaken to our own lives. Studies have show the point of greatest happiness is when an individual is working toward a goal. Olympic athletes report a loss of joy at the end of an event, even if they have garnered a prize.

Quo Vadis losing the way

The ability to be awake to my own life is and has been my focus for several years. How do I stay in a place of contentment even as the seasons change, through the trajectory of plans, effort and achievement? How do I allow emotions, deep grieving memories like forest monsters be recognized and acknowledged? Can I remain aware of what I hold in my body and of what I hold in the grinding fine mill of my brain?

Feel, release. Listen, release.

When I wake up the dreams are tangled around me like dark sheets. For decades I would have nightmares about being killed. The residual fear of my father coming in my room would be presented to me in dreams. My subconscious would be saying, ” Deal with this. Feel this.”

For decades I would awaken sobbing with my heart already shattered.

Through my vision quests; through my sitting at the feet of Shamans, teachers; through my listening to broadcasts from life coaches; through my reading DIY reconstruct your life books I have come to a place where there is an opening.

My eyes unclench at the start of day. I am encased in sadness like a gray, smudging cloud and then I move to gratitude. I put my hand on my heart and thank it for being so committed to staying alive. My heart has kept me here. I thank my heart for being so open and child like. The spirit I am wants to be in love, to share love, to be innocent and expectant. “Thank you, heart,” I say.

Seeing the love

I lay my warm hand on the place where I held cancer. The place where I have growths removed every five years and I say, “You are healthy. You are fully alive. You live in freedom. You are beautiful. Thank you body.”

As I swing my feet over the edge of the bed, I envision jumping off of the edge of a ledge into the day.

“What kind of a day will you have?” I ask myself.

“Any kind of day you create,” I answer.

“Oh great. Then, it will be wonderful and full of love.”

How do I know my focused study is working? Because there are times when I do not hear a dozen crows and fifteen monkies all chattering in my mind at once.
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How do I know my dedication to feeling and healing is effective?

As I walked along the boardwalk a little boy under the age of two was being pushed in his stroller by his parents. He was wearing a wonderful, expensive fedora. I did not smile at him. I did not stop and make faces at him.

I only thought, “Dude. I see your spirit. You are one rocking dude.” He broke into a smile and put his hand up to high five me. His parents stopped, looked at him. They looked at me and were puzzled. And then we all laughed.

I went to the bank and behind the counter was an attractive, thin, very stylish new bank clerk. His name tag said: Dave.

“Dave,” I said, “are you new here?”

“No,” he responded, ” I usually work in another bank.”

I thought how much I liked him daring to be so trim so stylish so unmundane. And then I saw the gigantic engagement ring on his left hand.

“Oh,” I said, “aren’t you the lucky one.”

“I know,” he said, ” and it isn’t because of the ring.”

We smiled together about his love, his claiming who he is in the world, my recognizing how wonderful he was. We just stood smiling together.

As I walked down the street, I saw a car enwrapped in love. On the windshield were two generous bouquets of gladiiolas. An aluminum heart balloon saying, “I love you,” was on the windshield. And balloons, balloons so pink and plasticy were floating from all of the wiper blades.

I am so grateful when I see the bravery of love. I am so lifted up when I see two people kiss on a street corner, exchanging tenderness. My heart sings when a baby waves at me.

The nightmare world of helplessness, having my bones broken and my spirit invaded are giving way. These days I step out into a world of surprising, magical moments of love. Thank you Dave for wearing your diamond and sparkling bright.

It is not a new season. It will not slip away like summer. It is where I plant my feet. Now.

My thoughts still attach to the narrative trajectory… anticipation, tension, release but I am thankful that I can be aware of what is appearing on my “reality screen.” And sometimes, I can even switch the channel.

The illusion of Stillness

Posted on November 22, 2012 by admin

Mundane, repetitive, stuck, cycling gray
bare cutting into the sky
branches dividing the flat planes.

Over two yards a tree
is busy with dead small leaves
standing texturing the view somewhat.
I seek continuity of
over and over the same
gestures, habits of delusion.
Mind full of thought crows
brassing sounds
comparisons, directions
attempts to keep me scared
and small.

One day looks like the next
a river’s flat silver surface
all turbulence underneath
where water meets the rocks.

To be still, quiet and accepting of one state or another is a monumental practice. My urge to weave a story keeps presenting itself. Today after a month of taking my laundry to the laundromat because some mysterious parts are no longer functioning in my second hand washing machine I see my mind is at work. Up there, in the tree head I weave narratives.

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We create turbulence

The higher place is where I try to stand. I call it the balcony view. I picture myself standing on a balcony looking down at my thoughts as if I were a cultural anthropologist and the primitive society was ME.
As I bagged up the laundry, I checked in. So far so good. No story. Just putting the bags in the car. Then I remembered the times when I was in Europe doing laundry and as a grad student. So here was the version I was constructing: I was on an adventure. I was going to a new place.

At the laundromat, I realized I had no soap. That made me laugh. It had been so long I guess I imagined the soap just trickled down like pixie dust from the soap fairy.

When I went next door to the deli/grocery store, a sample pushing woman approached me in her pseudo maid’s outfit lofting a silver tray. After exchanging information about my gluten intolerance, she ran off to check on the two miniature hamburger shaped chocolate eclairs. They were “safe”. She gave me both.

On the way back to the laundromat, I breathed deeply, looked at the sky and thought about how wonderful my day was. Two amazingly delicious, sugar saturated chocolate eclairs melted in my mouth one after the other. The machines were gigantic and tipped on their sides could be a power smart car. Fast. They were done in 20 minutes. I put the wet clothes in the car and drove home singing to the Glee CD I am determined to wear out.

So I did create a story. It was a story of finding the adventure in the flat places of winter. It was a story of seeing my being alone as being free. It was a story of unexpected pleasure when I dropped the turbid drama weavings, the cat’s cradle of catastrophe.

The washer still isn’t working. The repair men went away but after looking at the back of my dryer they explained that the luke warm hours of turning are a result of bad venting. Because they came today, I will have both the washer problem and the dryer problem resolved.

As I sit here with the tepid light coming in my window, I know that there are more things that will appear to be unrepaired, too slow, stultified which are in fact only incubating. Under the shell, under the soil there is growth going on. And that is a story that I allow to dance in my head.

Does Kelowna care? By election and arts community

Posted on November 14, 2009 by admin

Recently the CBC held a forum on support for the arts in Kelowna on the Day Break Show. It amazed me how optimistic the program sang in tone. We were told that 200,00 people were in the Rotary Centre in the past year. The issue of how the community supports the arts was totally by passed because there was no discussion of what “supports” means.

from photo up knox mountain

If by support, you mean they attended a musical event or play that had an ’80s rocker or a play that was popular in other cities in the 90’s, then yes. I guess that is support. But what of the local artists, musicians and performers. The real question is what is happening to make sure that we keep these people alive (as in fed), give them an audience (as in inspired) and build a fan base (as in future security). Is that happening? Most artists and musicians that I know are working on their art at a cost. It is financial with the need to find other sources of income to feed the fire. It is emotional in the attempts to garner a respectfully paying gig, or customers who will buy enough to keep them in paint.

the bridge is the answer to all problems

Why were there 50 fewer artists in booths at Propera this year? The economy is down. But it has always been “down.” We rely so heavily on outsiders to support and appreciate our local talent that most artists end by feeling like creative buskers in a tourist town.
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Further to the issue of passivity and apathy, is the up coming by-election. I am really curious as to what percent of individuals here will bother to go out and vote. The last major election it was under 20%. What are you guesses as the interest of Kelowna residents in their future?

The all candidates forum is on Wednesday, November 25th. How many care? How many will come to the forum? Which individuals will have the energy and commitment to the future of the city to go to a polling booth? We will have to watch and see.

where are the dolphins

Meanwhile, I am tired and happily in bed after the Potters and Artisans Show at the Rotary Centre which has just one more day. Hope to see you there Sunday and at local voting station November 28th. We deserve the kind of government we get.

When is Enough Enough in Art

Posted on September 29, 2009 by admin

How do you know when you are finished? So often people ask me this question. I think it might be because my work is so bold and vibrant. They are basically curious as to what the top is as in going over the top.

taking risks

It reminds me of a more pure and direct question that was asked of me once in a Korean restauarant in Victoria. I was marking provincial exams and alone. After the hours of reading truly puzzling and frustrating prose, I needed something to wake me up and clear my mind.

local library windows

I headed to a Korean restaurant and ordered hot and sour soup. “How hot do you like?” the waiter asked. I said ,”Give it to me. I like hot.” He went into the kitchen. A puzzled cook came out to check if this was true. Did I, a middle class white woman eating alone want the hot, hot soup. He seemed concerned and obviously didn’t want to take any responsibility for whatever my reaction might be. I felt as if I should sign a voucher so there would be a legal record.

believe nothing but your own heart

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“Oh yes,” I replied, “it is wonderful.”

They spoke together and one waiter leaned forward slightly. “How did you get like that?” he asked.

cd cover design

And that, I think is what most people mean when they ask how I know when a piece is done. How did I get so intense and brave? What is over the top or a stopping point for someone who works in a magically technical world?

“I know when it is done”, I tell them, “because I feel it in my body.” How strange that it is never the response they expect.

Warning to Artists!

Posted on April 26, 2009 by admin

scrape on edges, deep grooves

Awoke to the acid green leaves setting on the window outside my bedroom. The morning light touching flaming yellow patches translucent in their purity. The room zen like in its bamboo flooring and yellow walls does not feel bereft of nature because the trees on both sides are part of the visual unity of the space.

My mind, so trained for anxiety began to sweep the terrain of the day like a sniper looks for movements of emnity. Perhaps that is why I feel so negatively charged when I am with people who are in defensive mode. It pulls me in and out of myself. I see mirrored in their attitudes the worst of myself. Judgment. Fault finding. Attempting to establish status and as always various types of anxiety. What I call this is the war zone mind. Some live as if they were in Lebonon or Sri Lanka during the worst of the inner city battles. Always looking for the next assault. Times of relaxation and friendship are just breaks in the vigilance necessary for survival.

I am aware that my childhood has wired me for this state. However, I am gently working to loosen those roots. The work is to be kind, gentle and loving with myself. When I falter, when my mind goes to a place of judgment and competitiveness and negativity, I see it and realize that most of that response is internal.

Yesterday while we were carrying a large piece of art out of a furniture store, I was saddened by the fact that the owner had obviously just shoved the 5 x 7 foot piece in a truck with no protection. I was saddened by the fact that they had moved their store and left no sign. When I went to leave off promotional material, the store was empty and my 3 thousand dollar piece was gone. I tried phoning the numbers on their business card and was told it was not in service. Feeling anxious (again) I sent them an email indicating that I was not notified of their move, I couldn’t find them and I wanted my art back. I over-reacted and also said that I did not want to have to take “further action” to retrieve the piece. Almost immediately I got an email back telling me ,”we don’t want your art. Come and get it out of the store.”

When I arrived, I found that the piece had suffered damaged and was scratched to the point where it is unsaleable. I will have to do hours of work to fill the gashes and get an even surface. I felt both disappointed with myself for assuming the worst and disappointed with them for not protecting a valuable piece. All I could do was to remind myself that in the future, I must be more careful about the placement of my art and be more skilled in my dealings with galleries and art dealers.

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All I can do is try to catch on.

Images of the damaged piece are included.

deep gouges in the piece

For all artists out there, what I have learned is that whenever your work is out on display in any situation, have a contract for the owner to sign. Make one of your own if they don’t have one. There is no guarantee that they will comply but it does teach people how to treat you as an artist and as a person. The more we surround ourselves with respect, the safer we feel. The safer we feel, the less vigilant we are. The less defensive we are, the more the universe supports us.

We never catch up. However, we can catch on. Go forth in joy.

Free desk top images

Posted on April 23, 2009 by admin

I wish to share a few of the images that I have been working with the universe, or maybe just the world, or maybe just with you. Heading off to Vienna, Austria for an upcoming show has my generosity juices flowing. Also, some of my works can be purchased as postcards or art cards which I can ship to you quickly. Sample some possibilities and come back if you wish to purchase some of my energizing images for your home or office space.

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Happy spring.

Expression

Never put a sock in a toaster.

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