Imagine The Shift

Full Circle

2012-01-28T12:08:00.001-06:00

How beautiful that the Spirit that would not or could not let me hold her physical body four years ago January 28th now lies on me this very moment nested in the blue throw across my legs as I write. I knew she couldn't let me hold her because she was having an equally hard time letting go of me after nearly 18 years. Humans aren't the only ones who feel deeply when it's time to say good-bye.

Bogeysattvah now sits on my lap. Bogeysattvah whose name was inspired by the need to have love and compassion with bogeys on the golf course, as well as the course of life, returned as I requested four months after Templeton died. As Templeton made her shift, I asked that I recognize her spirit the week of my birthday.

Along came May and I began to search for her. I listened until one day my heart recognized her. My heart, unaccustomed to leaping much back then, immediately leapt though my head said, "Wait, she's a he this time."

Bogey's now been with us four years and I periodically still find some little behavior that's Templeton's.

It's said life comes full circle. Templeton, Bogey and I would agree. We sit here knowing, feeling, seeing and experiencing grace, beauty and love.

Bogey on a prior day.

Summed up in a word, I feel joy for this feline Spirit and I have come full circle. Four years ago we opened the doors wide to grief and walked out the door to part for a time, to follow the Mystery that was and is ours.

I consider my pets destined to be mine and me theirs. What about yours? Is your pet destined to be yours and you theirs?

Mine and Me call this Good News.

-Dawn, Bogeysattvah &Templeton, The Good News Mews, 28 january 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Fur Play

2012-01-28T10:28:00.001-06:00

I initially titled this 'Why I Love Jerry" as Mystery followed him through the house this morning. He, a cat convert of four years, rubbed her. No, it's always more than a rub, pet or pat. He always vigorously jostles her and she loves it. She continued to follow him as he sought hammer and nails for minor bird feeder repairs caused by overnight winds.

He found what he needed as Mystery followed him to the door where he jostled her once again. This time she rolled over exposing her belly. I hear Jerry say, "I'll be back, Mystery. That was just foreplay."

From the nearby chair I smiled and said, "That was fur play."

She looked up knowing she'd have to wait as he walked out and said, "This is cat-us interruptus."

Cat-us interruptus happens throughout our day as both Mystery and Bogey want us to play. Mystery especially will meow, grab my calf (put her front paws around my lower leg) then bolt down the hallway. I'll go in pursuit as she runs under the bed or behind the curtain. Then she'll streak down the hallway again.

It happened seconds ago as I moved from the chair to get my lap top except this time she raced up the stairs and under the bed then back down again. Yes, I followed.

To not follow means I would have missed the joy of a spontaneous moment.

The dear Beings that come to us as cats and dogs offering fur play and cat-us interruptus being it chasing, jostling or just hanging out shine and share love's light throughout the day.

I call that Good News. And on second thought fur play is foreplay and that's good news too.

-Dawn, The Good News Mews 28 january 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Your Favorite Tree - Win a Brenda Stein Pen

2012-01-27T10:02:00.002-06:00

I love trees. I've come to especially be mesmerized by them in Winter when the intricacy of their limbs are most evident. It's only been in the last few years that I've realized how trees are integral to my home life from being the substance of my floors, walls, tables and chairs to paper, pencils, picture frames, boxes and baskets made of bark not to mention a source of sustenance in syrups, figs, fruits and nuts galore. As I learned in biology but take for granted we could not live without trees as they use the CO2 we exhale while giving off the oxygen necessary for our inhale.

Trees sustain us with substance, sustenance and beauty. We need them and they need us, our appreciation, gratitude and admiration.

That's why I want to know about your favorite tree. This came to mind near Christmas when I learned 2011 was the "International Year of the Tree." The holidays arrived and time passed. Yet I was still curious as to folks favorite trees and thought, 'Every year should be the year of the trees.' Don't you agree?

So in honor of trees tell me about your favorite tree. What kind is it? Where is it? What draws you to it? It may be a tree you recall from an earlier time. Tell me why it comes to mind.

I was going to choose the winner next week. Then I read Wednesday Feb. 8 is Tu B'Shevat, the New Year for Trees in Jewish tradition.

So on Wed. February 8th (that's only 12 days away) the winner will be chosen by the folks down the street with the heart in their tree and will receive a beautiful cherry pen (value $60) by local artist Brenda Stein.

Represented by LeQuire Gallery, Brenda creates art from felled trees, many of which are Tennessee hardwoods. Warner Park commissioned Stein for pieces made out of trees fallen on their grounds. She was commissioned to design and create the awards for the 2007 Governor's Awards in the Awards for the State of Tennessee by the Tennessee Arts Commission.

Brenda's work may be seen through Feb. 4th at LeQuire (4304 Charlotte Ave.) alongside the current exhibit figures in charcoal and terra cotta by Alan LeQuire and Juliette Aristides.

So please tell me about your favorite tree in the comment box below. If "Comments" proves frustrating, don't sweat. Email your comment to dawn@imaginetheshift.com and I'll post it below. Feel free to include a photo of your tree.

Now let's Imagine the Shift as the masses love trees !

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 27 january 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

"Touch" & the Mystery of the Divine Feminine

2012-01-26T22:33:00.007-06:00

Tonight as I prepare for bed, I'm mindful that last night I lay in bed and saw opaque fabric in the universe. A white veil of sorts gradually made itself visible among the stars. Its folds reminded me of a never ending bridal train.

I someone who seldom watches TV had just seen "Touch" a new series in which Kiefer Sutherland plays a widowed father to a young autistic son who's never said a word but through his sensitivity intuitively taps into messages and codes of numbers. For years I've known greater awareness and increased consciousness weren't just for those who meditate. I was covered in goosebumps from head to toe repeatedly through much of the hour knowing "Touch" is exposing all who watch it to our interconnectedness or entanglement as Quantum Physics calls it. I was elated. The only reservation I had after the show was the references to the mystery of numbers and not the mystery of love.

Yet now that I think of it the mystery of love was woven throughout the show as the father persisted in trying to understand his son, as the son paid attention to the messages and especially in the shows final scene.

It was an hour later while lying in bed that I saw the fabric in the stars. I didn't just see the energetic fabric of the stars I now know I saw the Mystery of Love, the Divine Feminine revealing herself in the Universe, waiting to be called for, to come to us and be part of the Mystery as it makes itself known on Earth.

Click this link "TOUCH" for more on last night's preview show and to watch. The series begins March 19.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 26 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Nature of the Inner & Outer -A Musing While Browsing Home and Earth's Decor

2012-01-26T12:10:00.003-06:00

“We walk Earth holding ‘the goods,’ the beautiful fabric of our insidesin a world of beautiful design. Is it possible much of the bad in the worldhappens

because we miss the goods within and thus the good without?”

I don’t get out much at least to home décor stores, but lastweek a $10-off coupon arrived in the mail and I found myself in a store. Beautiful fabric on richly colored pillowscaught my eye while there. I ultimately usedthe coupon for owls painted on canvas while the pillows remained.

This week I returned to the store to stand before the wallof pillows still a feast for my insides. I chose four then turned with pillows in hand to mix and match them on anearby sofa.

As I turned I happened to look up. My breath was taken. Across the expansive asphalt parking lot andover mall and business roof tops was the setting sun as I, a connoisseur ofsunsets, had never seen it. Hues oforange and pink clouds looked like huge angel wings in the blue and blue-greensky. I commented to a salesclerk whojoined me for awhile.

The pillows couldn’t compare to the beauty nature providedin the then and there. I was acutelyaware that moment in my life and the sky would never be repeated. Never again would these exact colors and angelwings appear. I wished for my camerawhile knowing moments like this can never be captured.

I then walked around pillows in hand for when I do shop I’mthe customer who walks about the store holding the goods before usually returningthem to the shelf or rack.

I browsed and found myself at the window again where the colors had intensifiedand glowed. I stood leaning against thehuge sheet of glass aware that Life is more like Nature than home décor. Like life, nature is fleeting, changingmoment by moment whereas our homes insides are static and only change uponredecorating.

While decorative changes happen seasonally for some, thishappens every decade or so for me. Thepillows on my sofa were bought in Coloradofifteen years ago. The one pillow I finallyheld would complement them. If placed on my sofa, it would be used and walkedpast daily. Yet slowly and surely it would be taken for granted, taken forgranted the way nature is taken for granted. In this way, Nature is similar to my homedécor - ignored.

When ignoring happens, relationship and connection aremissed be it with the stuff of our homes or the stuff of Mother Nature. Our insides, our bodies, hearts and minds,are likewise neglected.

I continued to lean against that store window while wonderinghow many people decorate their homes trying to bring the beauty of the outsidein. Meanwhile we miss the beautiful moments in Nature all around because we are inside,not inside ourselves but inside cars, houses, offices.

I wonder if we were more awake and aware within what might werealize? What might shift if we were in relationship with ourinsides, the insides of own bodies, hearts and minds yet also the insides ofour homes? What would we keep? Whatwould we pass on? What might we discover? What might shift if we were in relationship to the outsidebe it the angle of the sun in the sky or the cloud shapes overhead?

I didn't capture a photo that day, but I got something much more important. I glimpsed Earth's ever present decor through the window of a home store thanks to the window of my soul.

Days later I realize just as I walked the store with the potential goods in hand, we walkEarth holding the goods of potential, the beautiful fabric of our insides in a world ofrich color, pattern and design.

Is itpossible much of the bad in the world exists because we miss the goods within?

Imagine all that would Shift if we realized the beauty of really beingawake, aware and alive?

-Dawn, The Good NewsMuse 26 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Patriarchy, Perimenopause and Me -Mystery and Memory's Black Hole

2012-01-20T10:27:00.003-06:00

I spent the end of last week sensing something stirring within whiletroubled to find my brain wouldn't work. As hard as I tried, I could notthink clearly. I could hardly think at all. I felt myself internallyscurrying about panicked, fearing I was loosing what was just beneath thesurface and that whatever it was would enter Memory's black hold (Iaccidentally wrote hold but meant hole) to forever vanish.

Then Friday I realized it was that time again. This explained alot. I'm a woman of 52 still having an occasional period. There'ssomething deeply satisfying about bleeding yet despite knowing better, I resistthe accompanying changes a couple of days preceding this now bi or tri-monthlycycle. My energy fails as does my brain. Highly stimulating places like thegrocery or just being inside my own skin can feel overwhelming.

Upon finally surrendering, I realized that when I resist letting go andstruggle against my flow I'm no different from the patriarchy or men in powertrying to maintain control. When I choose action over being and use forceover mindful stillness, I'm no different from the line of men in powerfulpositions who seem to need to wage war of some sort. The war I wage iswithin.

When I force my path rather than stopping to sit and listen, I'm nodifferent from the Cheney's and Rumsfeld's who at least as far as I can tellaren't open to Mystery but need to put everything into boxes of us vs. them forego and financial gain.

When I resist, it's me versus the Mystery, the Mystery that when I stopstruggling and listen always reveals something that in that moment that I needto hear.

When I finally surrendered early the evening of Friday the 13th, I began myday over again. The day hadn't started as usual. I allowed an8:00am meeting to preempt my morning routine. Finally on Friday evening I satdown with my journal and the written material with which I usually start eachday.

I seldom have a plan for what gets written in my journal and this night wasno different. I opened the cover and spontaneously wrote, "Why do Ihesitate writing what I know?"

Without effort, the answer immediately came. I am concerned with beingquestioned. I sensed some unknown authority demanding information of me. I wrote in response, "I know it in mybody as sure as I'm breathing and writing. I know through my body and soul yet what I know for me doesn't have tobe for you. What do you know in yourbody?"

In the moment this didn’t make sense yet it was what showed up on myinternal radar as I sat in the quiet and listened. I then read theinformation for Friday the 13^th and learned this date was initiallyassociated with the feminine and Friday was originally named after the planet Venus from the Norse tradition whose primary goddesswas Freya. Friday was Freya's day. In ancient times 13 was the sacred number of the Goddess. Then political and church leaderswanting to increase their power and control associated Friday the 13^thwith bad luck to separate the people from the feminine and the goddess.

Not only did I learn Friday the 13th was originally a good day, but that the French Templars on a Friday the 13th in 1307 were arrested on this day and eventually questioned and killed. Reading about the Templarsbrought a sudden sense of ease to my entire body and being that I had not hadall day.

Since going to FranceI've sensed I had a connection with the Templars be it a life with them longpast or a present day sensitivity to their experience. The next morning Iawoke seeing five or six scrolls in a stack and later knew I had been part ofthe Templar experience in some way that was connected to the feminine.

Days later I am mindful of the Mystery unfolding in me and in this Time. I think of Memory’s black hole and what we ashumankind have collectively placed there through repression and fear over time.I imagine all that has been split off from consciousness and disconnected fromlike the fear of the feminine from hundreds of years past.

What was it the church fathers feared? What is it men in power so fear today? How is it my own fear and discomfortkeep me from personally slowing down to deeply listen and connect? In my unconscious busyness what do Irepress?

I imagine all that has been placed in Memory’s black hole as being like aseed growing over time, awaiting us in this Time. I imagine this period in which we’re nowliving as the time for us as Earth gardenersto gently water this seed with tears of joy and sorrow and like the sun coax itforth with the warmth of love.

This is the time of Mystery moving over and through Memory’s black holecalling forth through us the Mystery of Love wanting to grow in this time, aLove that redeems, forgives and joyfully celebrates.

As I wrote in my journal a week ago, this is what I know in my body andsoul. What do you know, not in your mind, but in your body on the inside astruth for you in this time? What have you contributed to Memory’s black hole desiringnow to emerge?

Imagine the Shift of honoring what is planted within and allowing it to grow forth in the Mystery of this Time.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 20 January 2012

dawn@ imaginetheshift.com

Light Bringers

2012-01-12T18:56:00.003-06:00

I've a lantern recently purchased at an after Christmas sale. Every time I pick it up, I've this bodily knowing that I've done this many times. I've carried a light to dark places be it to assist the mother in the middle of the night bearing new life or the early morning hours to milk the cows and gather the eggs. Or over the battlefield like Florence Nightingale tending the wounded, saying prayers over the dead.

I don't know that it matters whether this is a past life feeling or a present life knowing that I'm here to carry the light to the darkest places inside myself and into the misunderstood and forgotten corners of shadow and darkness in the world.

We are all built to be light carriers, light bringers in this time.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 12 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Hand of God & Mystery

2012-01-12T09:54:00.001-06:00

This morning as I awoke I saw a hand, a dark hand with its palm facing me and its fingers upright. Then the hand became a tree much like the one I photographed in recent moonlight.

Moments later as I noted this in my journal I suddenly realized I was being shown how the hand of God became a tree.

How might our daily lives change, our comings and goings by foot, bike, car, bus and train, if we realized God in the trees? How might our inner lives change if we opened to and considered the dark hand of Mystery growing through our lives, holding us at all times?

Imagine the Shift of realizing the Divine in trees and opening to the Mystery of your life.

Dawn, The Good News Muse 12 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Divine Messges in Nature

2012-01-11T09:26:00.000-06:00

I had determined to run the mile home during this morning's walk yet at the turn my breath was taken. I thought I had come upon beautiful paper until I picked it up. I had found bark. Bark found me. It seemed mutual this encounter with exquisite pages from a nearby birch.

Assembly lines cannot create this work of art with orange, brown and blue hues and Morse code lines etched in tissue paper layers.

I now hold this sacred text and feel blessed and mesmerized. Divine messages are written in Nature before our very eyes.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 11 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Call of Cranes and Colquitt

2012-01-10T10:03:00.000-06:00

Over the entrance of the Colquitt, Georgia emergency services department hangs a sign reading: "When Called, We Respond."

February 2-5 people will gather in Colquitt responding to another call, a call to care for Mother Earth through the arts of storytelling, community building and social change. In it's 6th year, the Building Creative Communities Conference will feature Peggy Rubin founder of the Center for Sacred Theater in Ashland, Oregon and workshops on Social Artistry with Jan Sanders, Community Storytelling with Dr. Richard Geer, Community Development with Dr. Tim Chapin and presentations on local food initiatives. See the link below for scheduling, registration, etc.

Nearer home in Middle TN this weekend, Jan. 14/15, bird lovers far and wide gather for the TN Sandhill Crane Festival in Birchwood, TN to see and hear the literal calls of 1,000's of sandhill cranes wintering at the Hiwassee Wildlife Refuge. This year's a special treat as endangered whooping cranes and a lone hooded crane found in Asia are present at the refuge also. Already in the past month visitors from 35 states and five countries have seen and heard these amazing birds that are 2.5 million years old. (Sandhill crane fossils are one and a half times older than the earliest remains of most living species of birds.) A link's provided below for directions, hours and activities planned through the weekend.

Both the cranes and Colquitt share great story. Sandhill cranes have returned from the verge of extinction while Colquitt like so many small towns on the verge of dying has been resurrected by "Swamp Gravy" a yearly changing play written and performed by community members now in its 18th year.

Whether reviving small towns or wildlife, love stirs the call to respond, love for one's community and for nature. Yet there lies a deeper beauty and grace-filled gift in responding to calls such as those presented by Colquitt and the cranes. As we rescue our winged kin and small towns, we are personally rescued and revived. Our hearts, minds and imaginations are invigorated and our personal ties strengthened.

We are called more than ever today to show up and wake up to the revival of great story, a story of creativity, community, cooperation and collaboration, a story of great love unfolding on Earth.

Today we are called. How do you respond?

Get yourself to the TN Sandhill Crane Festival, Jan. 14-15 8am -6pm. See link for a schedule of presentations at the Birchwood Elementary School and Native American presentations at the Cherokee Removal Memorial Park

And seriously consider attending Building Creative Communities Conference in Colquitt, GA.

These events are inspiring, stirring and part of today's Good News.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 10 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Thoughts on Light and Flight

2012-01-09T14:37:00.002-06:00

How many flames quietly burn in our world?

In the past year I’ve wondered how it is that in the city, Ifeel a literal connection to nature that I don’t in the country. How is itrunning or walking city sidewalks, I feel circles of energy moving from thetrees to me and back again from me to the trees? How is it that I, an introvert, am fed bythis energy as traffic noisily passes; while in the country where I could runand not be passed by cars, I stay inside or in my yard?

I love the trees in the country. They quietly stand, encircling me, but I seemto take them for granted. Whereas thetrees in the city seem to call out and say, “Acknowledge us not just on EarthDay but every day.” In the land ofconcrete and asphalt where Nature is easily forgotten, they see me and I seethem seeing me.

New Year’s Day I decided to venture outand run the country road I don’t often travel. I didn’t run to have an epiphany but as I ranI felt a sense knowing in my body. Thewide open spaces of the country hold an expansiveness with which I’m unaccustomed.

I think of myself as being outside the box, yet runningalong with the sky overhead unencumbered by noise and boundaries I felt the boxin which I live unknowingly. I felt viscerally constrained.

Arriving home I pondered the gift in this containment forI’ve experienced the energetics of me, how the body can circulate energyfeeding and being fed. I now ask can Iopen to the freedom of expansiveness wherever I am? Can my heart and beingencompass the all, the unknown or will I choose safety, living constricted andsmall?

Then I hear: Lightconstricted is flame.

I don’t know physics but I think of the atom and moleculeand the energy bound in very small things. I think of the seed and the child,the ant and the bee, the lessons found in small mysteries. Can I be bound by abody yet feel boundlessness at the same time? Can I open to something largerthan my city streets and engage with expansiveness all around me?

How I Learned Containment

I began the next day with a ritual honoring people past andpresent on my family tree. I lit acandle to honor the flame my father carried. Wanting to ensure this light burned through the day and into the night,I transferred the flame as the hours passed from candle to candle.

My father’s physical flame went out January 2^nd sixyears ago, yet I suspect through many kind deeds known and unknown his lightcontinues to burn. His acts from which I benefited most were related to his hard work. With me, he was more often harshthan kind with words.

His parents feared the going out of his flame as a child forin his baby book my grandmother noted her fears early on of his dying fromwhooping cough.

Worried she and my grandfather hovered and smothered notwanting to let go. This worry became control leading to irritation andharshness between my father and his parents. Not knowing how to navigatevulnerability and closeness, my father in turn visited a similar harshness uponmany of those who were close.

This generational dance of love and control is a piece tothe puzzle of how I learned containment.

I sat with the flame representing my father and pondered hispassing over several months time. Although there was much I said to him, there’salways felt like one missing piece.

As I sat with the flame, the sun came through the blinds andI felt compelled to take a photo. I wonderedif I was diverting from the moment by trying to capture it.

Yet when I looked at the photo I saw the presence of a lightbeing. Not only did I see a beautiful six pointed star, but a green and blueorb sitting side by side with what looked like piano keys above the blue andgreen and a wing above and below.

Since green and blue represent the heart and voice chakras, I immediately thought, ‘The voice of the heart holds the keys to flight.’

It was around this time that it came to me, the one thing Ididn’t say to my father, the one thing that was so obvious.

Twice while he was ill, I looked up to see him sitting inbed looking at me. Our eyes locked and his face was the saddest I had ever seenyet I looked away.

In a flash six years later, I knew what I wished I had said.I wished I had simply said, “You look so sad.”

How is it I allowed fear to keep me from being personal,from being me? What’s the worst thingthat could have happened? He could havebeen sharp or dismissive, yet still that would have been his loss and I wouldhave gained me.

In that moment, I was afraid of expanding. Afraid of using my heart’s voice, I chosecontainment.

So I consciously chose to use my voice later that day andcalled a family member. I related the bittersweet realization to which she saidshe never talked to him that way either because she assumed if he wanted totalk about it (feelings) he would be the one to bring it up.

How much isolation’s been bred over time through not wantingto be rude or cause distress and upset? How much constriction and containment has thisquiet, no talk rule bred? And iflight constricted is flame how many flames quietly burn in our world? How many hearts await flight?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 9 January 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Dust to Dust - On Dancing with Sunlight and Dust

2012-01-05T09:37:00.001-06:00

The angle of winter sunlight coming through my windows is such that I see galaxies of dust, dust flecks sparkling and circling around me. I've been known winter's past to remind myself of Princess Leah in my white housecoat/robe using the vacuum hose to suck particles from the air.

Now I'm less likely to warring and more prone to watching and wondering.

Recently particles swirled as I realized I was being reminded everything returns to dust, back to its origins in Mother Earth, including us.

Can I be at peace with this truth? Yet I'm being offered more than peace. Can I be joyful in the truth of constant change and feel gratitude for the preciousness of each temporary moment?

I watch as the cosmos stirs around me. Particles of dander, skin, pet hair, my hair, newspaper, toilet paper, paper towels, bed sheets, bath sheets, particles of this and more dance with me as sunlight makes the unseen seen.

I want to joyfully join the dance rather than try to control it.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 5 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Son's of Earth

2012-01-04T15:39:00.003-06:00

"Sun's of Earth realize the beauty you carry inside."

Since writing of Sun's nearness today, I thought it wise to sit in the sun, to soak up its rays and listen as often as possible, to see what it had to say.

During an afternoon break, I sat down and immediately saw geometric shapes. I was reminded of a similar occurrence this summer after which Jerry who was also outside called for me. He had found flowers at the garden's western edge that we hadn't planted.

They took my breath away. Their honey comb insides looked like what I had just seen while sitting in the sun.

These were the flowers I thought of today when the shapes appeared.

These are the flowers I was thinking of when I heard "Suns of Earth realize the beauty you carry inside,"

I wrote "Suns of Earth" but was thinking, "Sons of Earth. Sons of Earth realize the beauty you carry inside."

What might be realized if men walking Earth stopped their warring and realized the beauty they carry inside?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 4 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Sun - The Faithful Gardener On Earth's Perihelion

2012-01-03T11:33:00.002-06:00

Today Earth is at its perihelion or the closest we come in our orbit to the Sun. There's something quite beautiful about this, this body of fire that warms our Earth, giving life to all that sustains us being so near in this coldest time of year in our Northern Hemisphere.

Memory takes me to the Blue Ridge Parkway and the joy I felt last summer seeing multitudes of yellow flowers, visible reminders of Sun's energy come to Earth, lining the mountain roads.

We had not traveled this road in over twenty years. Jerry could not stop enough for me to take photos of what I saw as little suns on stems of green.

Today I am mindful Sun is a Faithful Gardener gently planting seed waves of energy into Earth's soil and our souls especially on this winter's day.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse,
4 january 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

May Separation Cease - Inspired by Gardens and the Homeless

2012-01-02T20:27:00.000-06:00

Late today I spread a thick layer of mulch over recently planted garlic. As I did I thought of someone I know taking coats to the homeless.

I considered her act much greater than my own until I realized what matters most is an attitude of concern, kindness and care. Both of us desire to protect life and provide warmth in the predicted winter cold.

This may sound strange, but it occurred to me that to say her act is greater than mine perpetuates separation.

Beliefs around separation and systems built on theses beliefs contribute to how we segregate ourselves into the homed and homeless, thinking we nor our kin could end up on the streets. Separation contributes as well to our disconnect from the foods we eat, forgetting food really comes from earth and not the fast food lane or grocery.

May our illusions of separation cease and every living thing on earth be cloaked in the warmth of kindness and love this night.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 2 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

When Water and Light Meet

2012-01-02T14:21:00.000-06:00

This morning in the shower, I saw a feather in the glass, a feather to my left and then snake or lizard skin to my right. I love both birds and reptiles and find it fascinating that these two creatures seemingly so different, earth and sky bound, are kin in creation's chain.

Fearing the images might vanish, I rushed downstairs to get my camera and hurriedly returned hoping they hadn't changed.

The images faithfully remained. After taking photos, I realized the snake skin also looked like tree bark.

Bark, feathers and skin protect, protect the body while holding a being of light.

The interplay of water, glass and sun's light gave me this gift reminding me of a song line I heard over a year ago.

"We are made of glass."

Water on glass, our own light body, reveals who we really are. Yet I've often turned from water, my own and others, and when I do I deny in that moment who I am.

When I turn from the water of tears, I deny my light body its beautiful patterns, patterns that are meant to shine.

When water and light join there is passion. Where the water of tears and light of the heart join there is fire.

How are you in relation to water and light?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 2 January 2012

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Message from the Universe - Pt. 2

2011-12-31T20:05:00.001-06:00

In NovemberI wrote of a vision I had in late October. (Click “Message from the Universe” to read.) The following is the rest ofwhat I was shown that week. I offer it with2012’s arrival in hopes that you the reader will be open to what occurred to meand discern the message that resonates for you as we move into this long awaitedtime.

*****

Two daysafter the experience referenced above, I found myself in the Universeagain. Usually when these trips occur Ifloat along in awe of all the stars. This time I immediately realized something was different. The stars wereminimal. In the distance was a man’sface made of lines of light, a man appearing pained and frightened.

As I movedtoward the face, I realized this man had the saddest, most terrified expressionI had ever seen. (Upon rereading this story just prior to posting it, I recallseeing something close to this expression on my father’s face in a dream andagain as he sat in bed looking at me as he died of cancer.) As I moved nearer, I began to gently floatinto the man’s face. As I did, it slowly fell apart and disintegrated. I found myself in a Universe absolutelyfilled with stars.

I knew I hadseen the diminishing, pained and frightened patriarchy, the system that forcenturies has been in control. The manrepresented not just men, but the part of us all that is frightened of losingcontrol, afraid to really sit still, be vulnerable and exposed. I also knew I had seen the unspoken sadness andterror of the patriarchy that’s filled with grief and regret for what’s been doneto Earth and others directly and indirectly in the name of competition, controland conquest.

Two dayslater I found myself in the Universe again. In the four years I’ve experienced travelinglike this, never had three experiences been so close together.

This time Itraveled rapidly unlike anything prior. Izoomed through space and as I did I saw the faces of many, many animals. Theireyes and faces made of energy often come to me as I float among the stars butnever this many or this quickly. I wonderedif I was speeding to the edge of space or returning from the beginning of time.The last face I saw I recognized. A foxcame and stayed with me as the vision ended.

I wentstraight to my copy of “Animal Speaks” and read about fox. Immediately I knew why fox had stayed. TedAndrews writes that there are 21 different kinds of foxes found throughout theworld and that the “Card 21 in the tarot deck is The World, a card reflecting anew world opening up, that the process of creation is beginning. It reflectsthat the world is growing into new patterns that will be beneficial.”

This fitperfectly with the first vision days earlier in which I saw the energy ofcreation being pulsed to us through the stars and the grid laid for the newconsciousness of love. This world of newpatterns speaks to a model of relationship based in cooperation, community andcompassion for all arriving as the patriarchy is dying.

The Dying Patriarchy

The face ofthe dying patriarchy had immediately reminded me of a presentation I heard atBelmont in the Fall. The title “Death Watches: Keeping Company with Men Waitingto Die” intrigued me. I sensed I was to hear this talk yet had a schedulingconflict. Just prior to the presentation, a client who had never cancelled calledwith an emergency. This wasn’t anaccident.

I rushed toBelmont and found a seat just as Tucson writer Nancy Mairs accompanied by herhusband George was invited to speak on their work with men on death row.

What? I had come to hear a talk on how wekeep company with the dying patriarchy. I thought the title was a metaphorsince the talk was presented in the business school. This wasn’t what I expected yet I knew I wasto be there.

The speakershared of corresponding and spending time with Eric, one of several men she hadcome to know on death row.

She and herhusband are a powerful testimony to profound forgiveness and compassion.Despite having lost a foster son to murder, they do not support the deathpenalty. In Mrs. Mairs words, “Somebody’s dead. Why would I want anyone elsedead?”

She told ofthe heartlessness of the system and the disregard she experienced looking intothe flat gaze of men on a clemency board as she spoke on behalf of a mansentenced to die. She referenced the childhood traumas of the men she had knownincluding the absence of nourishing touch in their young lives.

I foundmyself thinking about the patriarchy, the hierarchical system of separation andcontrol that has contributed to the neglect, abuse and sense of powerlessnesscreating the pipeline funneling so many into our prisons and death row. I foundmyself thinking of those who profit financially through the stock market fromthese prisons.

So many ofour systems are broken because the patriarchy is broken and cannot admitvulnerability and shame. When vulnerability cannot be admitted or shown, it’snearly impossible to touch and be touched. Like so many on death rows and in our prisons, the patriarchy has beendeprived of nourishing touch.

There isgrace and beauty in this time of such brokenness as we hold the fertile soilfor new patterns represented by the fox and the flag of love in my visions.

I foundmyself wondering if a new world of patterns of compassion and relatedness are beingushered in, what does a death watch or keeping company with the patriarchy asit dies look like?

In one ofhis correspondences Eric wrote, “I need a hug.”

I suggest aspart of the new pattern the dying patriarchy needs a hug, not a hug affirmingthe wrong that has been done, but energy extended in compassion that says wesee your fear, your isolation and sadness and we will not retaliate or shameyou.

Although I liketo envision the greedy, controlling powers of today asking forgiveness, Irealize the patriarchy does not have to ask forgiveness for me to extendforgiveness. Extending forgiveness as the Mairs do is part of the new pattern.

Anotheraspect of the new pattern is honoring the gifts of the patriarchy. In the firstvision I saw an American flag in the Universe. If not for the patriarchy, Iwould not have seen a flag nor be in America right now. I am not condoning what happened to the NativeAmericans or slaves, nor any of the pain at the hands of the patriarchy, butthe patriarchy got us here. Hosts of souls from times past have brought us tothis amazing place in time.

I amgrateful to the Eric’s of the world who have given their lives as souls caughtup in our broken systems. I feel gratitude for Eric’s ancestors taken fromtheir home generations ago and brought to a new land. I thank them and ask fortheir forgiveness.

And I feelgratitude for the patriarchy for participating in this great drama unfolding onEarth and in the Universe. I am gratefulto the systems that have gotten us to this place and I ask forgiveness forstanding on the sidelines so often in judgment and criticism.

The greatestchallenge of this New Time may be forgiving and loving the patriarchy, hearingit through what’s not being said and providing nourishing touch rather thanretaliating or withholding presence. If thissystem of control and conquering is honored, it will be laid to rest in love andless likely re-emerge on a planetary scale in times to come.

About the Animals

For twomonths I’ve puzzled over why the many animals showed themselves to me thatnight. Previously if I saw a specificanimal in a vision, I would often have an earthly encounter with that animal shortlyafterward or hear of a related discovery in the news.

I’veremained puzzled as to why they showed up one after the other that night untilpreparing this post when I realized through the animals I’ve been shown my own patternand been freed to experience a new pattern.

I haveheaped criticism upon the patriarchy for its mistreatment of nature and the animals. I judge the patriarchy for being hard heartedyet the animals have shown me my own hardened heart.

Over thelast three years the animals have been showing me my pattern of closing myheart (with frightening ease) and turning away when pained causing me todisconnect in despair.

I recall thefirst dead birds that I came upon and the rigidity of my hands and arms as Itried to hold them. I knew I was to hold and honor them but I could not feelanything. The animals kept arriving until finally tearscame. My heart finally broke and then I felt angerthat was more kin to rage as hostile thoughts tiptoed around the edges of mymind. I would read news stories and wish I could inflict pain on those who abuseand misuse animals of all kinds.

The animalskept coming and I finally realized the honor I was being given. Whether standingon the roadside or in my yard, I am being given the privilege of bearingwitness to an animal’s living and dying. I’m gifted with a time to share gratitudefor that animals presence here on Earth and ask that they and their soul group feelhealing as an animal returns to the universe.

The animalshave shown me my pattern of closing my heart due to sorrow, pain, despair andhate. Yet through their death they haveshown me a richer pattern, the experience of feeling gratitude, joy and love.

The animals willinglycome to Earth to participate in our lives, yet they are quiet participants, nothoarding, killing or arming themselves. They do not seek revenge but offer themselvesto us so we might come to more fully be all we are created to be.

In this new time may we realize our partners in the heavens and here on earth and bring forth the highest and best of who we are through the love in our hearts.

Sincerely,

Dawn

The Good News Muse, 31 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Transplanting Light - Solstice Contest Winner

2011-12-26T09:43:00.002-06:00

A BIG "Thank you" to those who took a moment to reflect and share on a dark time in your personal journey.

Folks wrote of how they experienced light through an 'unwanted' cat that became a companion, learning how to grieve, calling up courage to proceed with a divorce, a heron and hiking, a cave in Crete, an unexpected encounter with a mesmerizing nurse and the gift of life through a sibling.

The day after Solstice as the light gradually began to return, "Judge Judy" (my dear non-judging seventy-something neighbor) read the entries. I received an unexpected gift just listening to Judy's sounds and comments as she read. (Things like: "Now, Dawn, I've got goosebumps all over. This just gives me chills.")

As for the winning entry, Judy chose Ricki Baer's story of finding light and powerful truths through kidney failure. I hope you'll take a moment to read below of Ricki's experience. And again thank you each for reflecting on light and Being A Light !!

"Days were darkest during my late twenties, when my health was failing. My kidneys were shutting down, no longer able to filter through my body's unwanted materials. Not only did kidneys slow, but not being properly cleaned, other organs did as well. That included my brain as my thoughts came more slowy. But amazingly, as this slowing process took place, my perception of life was growing. No longer distracted by endless activities and inner and outer chatter, and losing any conscious sense of control, communion with not only the world, but the moments grew. The awareness that it was not "I' who was breathing; rather, my body was being breathed by something larger than my personality. It was awsome to recognize this, and it delivered a great sense of security. It actually felt like a larger of myself was handling things.

I had months to exist in this reality. The world grew dark and far away. Then one day my sister came to me and said that not only did she want to give me her kidney, but that hers was a perfect match! I really couldn't believe it! My sweet sister, who was married and had two boys, told me that she did not want any more children, but she DID want to give ME life and that I must never worry or feel indebted. This was something she wanted with all her heart. Though incredibly excited about the prospect of returning vitality, I now wondered what this larger aspect of myself would do. I tried to trust that what was supposed to happen, would...there wasn't energy for much else.

On the day of our transplant, our family gathered round. Mom had dressed us in matching gowns, it was very special. I don't remember much except the blast off! Being rolled down the hall together, holding hands ... not knowing if I'd wake up afterward or not! Well, the doctors said that our match was truly miraculous, for the minute our tissues touched, blood flowed powerfully ... and that wasn't all!

Afterward, I awakened, gradually realizing that my bed was beside a window. When I looked out, though a tree was in front of my eyes. It was hard to recognize its form because of all the colors running up and down the bark ... amazing colors everywhere. In fact, it was hard to discern the physical form of anything, but beautiful colors were pulsating, flowing in and through all things and creatures. Gradually this perception faded, but it left an awareness that our world is alive, every inch of it ... and it's all one fabric. Not only did my sister grant me the opportunity for a renewed life, but also the opportunity to recognize the fact that we are all one, living, breathing, pulsating together. This recognition has left me only momentarily ... and actually, too often. But my commitment is to embrace and share this gift."

So be it!

-Ricki & Dawn, The Good News Muses 26 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Welcome the Night

2011-12-21T17:55:00.003-06:00

"Welcome the Night" - I thought this message was meant for me as I heard it and the sun set.

I had settled in, made an early fire and was ready for Solstice. Then I remembered the garlic! I bought three heads of garlic from Burgess Falls Nursery that I intended to plant on Solstice. I had prepared the spot a month ago.

I awaited this day and I forgot.

So after dark fell and before the second fire was built, eighteen cloves of garlic went into dark Mother Earth and I realized they do 'welcome the night.' Seeds and bulbs welcome the night with ease.

Over 6-7 months magic will be worked and come July these single souls will have multiplied. This is the magic I want to manifest in life....multiplying love and delicious goodness regardless of day or night.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 21 December 2011

dawn @imaginetheshift.com

Bookends

2011-12-21T17:44:00.002-06:00

Water in the gutter drips.
1-2, 1-2
Keeping time
Marking time
In the background crickets hum, unusual for this time of year.

Time.
Sound.

In time before time, Creation began with vibration, sound.
I wonder what is being born on the vibration of cricket sound tonight.

This is the perfect way to near Solstice time. I didn't know it until this moment sitting outside near midnight under a dome of cloud sky, serenaded by the insect world with my gutters keeping time.

The next morning.....

I awoke early to sit in the dark and watch the sun rise. It was hidden by clouds. I went to work out and there the sun was shining in the faces of those with whom I share this ritual.

I imagine the shift of seeing the Sun in all things.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 21 December 2011

The Cardinal Connection

2011-12-21T17:36:00.000-06:00

Yesterday would have have been my father's 75th birthday. He loved birds and for whatever reason I think of him when I see cardinals. How perfect that on his birthday my dear neighbor (who didn't know my dad) invited me over to exchange gifts. Mine from her was topped with a beautiful handmade cardinal. I shared the significance of this day with her. Then as I walked out her door what did I hear in our city yards? A cardinal calling.

This morning I open my journal to write and find a note about the first cardinal of the day, one I had forgotten. I had noted being awakened yesterday morning by the call of a cardinal before daybreak.

Memories and synchronicities like this cannot be bought with money.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 21 December 2011

The Mystery of Love Unfolding All Around Us

2011-12-19T20:25:00.003-06:00

Today I had a plan for everything I wanted to accomplish yet for the first time in three months boot camp was not part of my Monday plan. Surprisingly when 8:15 rolled around something possessed me and I found myself throwing on workout clothes and heading a few streets over to meet Bill. I was the sole 'camper' today.

Bill regularly reminds us to focus on form and repeatedly says boot camp is not a competition. Today I forgot this and found myself competing with the clock. Just as Bill said, "Ten seconds" I tried to squeeze in one more round of a running drill. I put my mind in high gear hoping to run forward and backward once more before time was called.

My feet didn't get the message to shift gears. While running backward, they ran over themselves. Bill was immediately concerned and I was embarrassed. I felt the fall coming and tried to gracefully brace myself. The problem wasn't with the fall, but what happened after boot camp.

I continued in high gear, doing unplanned odds and ends rather than returning home to post the story to which I had committed.

The beauty of our bodies or at least mine is when I'm not listening, it has a way of getting my attention. Within two hours of distracting myself, my body offered up a little flasher, a precursor to migraines something I have maybe once a year when I'm moving at a pace that's not mine in response to trying to get too many things done.

Despite the many things I thought I had to do, I resentfully lay down. I imposed a nap on myself.

Within moments of lying on the sofa, Bogeysattvah lay down on my legs. Mystery usually joins in by positioning herself at my feet. I closed my eyes and immediately began to see a portal, a vortex of energy turning clockwise.

Then Mystery interrupted by curling up on my chest something she's never done. I closed my eyes again somewhat frustrated fearing the portal wouldn't return. What happened next is why I share this story.

As I lay on the sofa with my eyes closed, Mystery placed a paw on my heart. I opened my eyes momentarily to make sure this was really her paw I felt. This dear cat who had never laid this close to my heart except for the first night she came to live with us lay curled on my chest with her paw on my heart.

I closed my eyes again. Not only did the portal reappear, but in its center was the cat's eye that I first saw the night before Templeton died in January of 2008. I've seen this eye repeatedly over the years but never in a portal to another dimension. Today in the middle of the eye a star sparkled.

I opened my eyes and exclaimed, "Mystery, you're related to the eye I've see." I began to talk into my recorder sharing what I had seen as Mystery began to loudly purr. (I have those purrs recorded now.)

Since Templeton's death, a cat's eye made of energy in the universe has regularly shown itself to me. Today the message of the eye was about trusting and loving the Mystery of life and the Mystery of my heart. Or as Bill and I touched on in boot camp, everything in life's journey fits together. As time passes even the most painful things that we don't understand as they're occurring, fit somehow into our life's bigger picture.

As Mystery purred atop me, I knew and I know that the eye I've often seen is the Mystery unfolding inside me as well as watching over me, the Great Mystery of Love unfolding on Earth, watching over us all. You may call the Mystery God, Spirit, Life Force, Higher Power, Goddess or your Mystery may be Science.

What I know is Mystery is present in the world, wanting to engage with us, wanting to show us how to love and live deeply in these times. And like my cat today, the Mystery is usually right in front of us. All we have to do is slow down, pay attention, listen and see.

-Dawn! The Good News Mews 19 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Light Returns - Solstice Contest

2011-12-17T09:14:00.000-06:00

In this Season of Light, next Wednesday, December 21st, marks Winter Solstice the longest night of our year. Solstice also begins the gradual return of light culminating in summer's longest day in June.

This dance in the Universe of Sun and Earth is a beautiful metaphor for light gradually returning to us after dark times or dark nights of the soul to which the mystics referred.

Light also returns through shared story. So here's the contest.....

In the comment section below share something about a time in your life that was dark and

how you experienced light beginning to return. The winner will be chosen with the help of my favorite "judge Judy" my seven-something neighbor who hasn't a judgmental bone in her body and coined the phrase "Life is good" long before it was made commercially popular. Judy inspires me and she delights in being inspired.

PRIZE: Since locally owned businesses are lights in our cities and communities, the winner will receive a $30 gift certificate from his/her favorite locally owned business/artist. (Ex. Parnassus books, Le Quire Gallery, Grimey's records,Urban Oasis, the Turnip Truck, Tin Angel not Walmart, Whole Foods.) If you live outside Nashville, I'll contact the business you select and get the gift certificate to you.

Lastly to up your chances of winning in case Judy has a hard time deciding, share how the local gift certificate is connected to the light's return for you.

Here's an example that occurred to me as I thought of lights return in a personal dark time.

Last year prior to major surgery I created a game plan for taking care of myself pre and post surgery. I covered all the bases regarding my physical, emotional, spiritual and psychological health. Even still I was depleted and powerless for some time. Most days all I could do was lie on the sofa. The insurance statement that soon arrived in the mail confirmed what I suspected. I was given two dozen drugs during the procedure's span. Daily I lay on my sofa looking at the little Japanese maple lit by sun's light each day. Now I realized, it held light for me when I couldn't find my own light. Eventually I called a friend and asked if she and her two daughters would drive me to Las Paletas for a popsicle. In pouring rain, she loaded me up along with her children. A creamy rose petal popsicle with this family was also light for me. I'd like to win (though I can't) a gift certificate to a local nursery or Las Paleta's.

If for some reason, you can't post a comment below email me your story and I'll post it on the site. Include "Solstice Contest" in your subject line and here's to the Light.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse at Imagine the Shift

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Global Heart in the "Coming Back" Place

2011-12-15T10:55:00.000-06:00

This morning I was awakened by a scream. I was in the "coming back" place, a place of not exactly being asleep but also not fully being awake.

I lay in bed trying to discern if the scream came from within me or if I had heard someone outside. I lay there listening to see if I heard it again or if the sound of an ambulance followed.

This was a woman's scream. It was the cry of a woman having experienced something unthinkable and unbearable like the brutality of rape, the death of a child or loved one or the deaths of the many as has happened during mass executions here of Native Americans, during the Holocaust and in the ethnic cleansings in Yugoslavia's break up or the Rawandan genocide of nearly a million people in the Nineties. It was the cry of mothers whose children are killed in Sudan or whose children are taken and seduced into sex trafficking here and abroad.

It was a scream of great pain released upon seeing the horrors that humankind has visited upon human kin.
It was a cry for comfort, heartache comfort. This was a cry that needed arms in which to be held.

I didn't want to write of what I heard this morning. I wanted to ignore it, get busy and push the scream away. Yet to ignore it regardless of its origins made me feel like kin to those who have turned away throughout time as people were killed and even now as people die in ongoing wars and conflicts or suffer from hunger and disease where people are without access to clean water or simple mosquito nets.

So I write as tears roll down my face, imagining my Middle Tennessee tears are my heart's arms holding and soothing cries somewhere right now.

I imagine my hearing and tearing helps heal the global heart, the Divine Feminine in the "coming back" place, coming back from being numbed and walled off after eons of neglect and pain.

I imagine practicing the shift of crying without resistance, diversions or shame. This sounds too passive yet I wonder what might take root with this simple allowing of the heart's language. What actions might ultimately unfold from this? What ripples would spread from the falling of compassion's tears into the energy field around Earth? Imagine what might take place.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 15 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

(An hour after writing this, a story on the back of the Tennessean got my attention. The headline read:
1 in 4 women say they have been assaulted. A CDC survey reports 36 million women have experienced physical violence, slapping or shoving by an intimate other. Half of those reporting rape were 17 or younger when the rape occurred. I read and wondered if I heard the cry of the feminine associated with this story. Then I considered how someone's 'out there' right now preparing stats citing faults in this study. A country, a world in which the ratio is even 1 in 100 or 1 in a million is unacceptable. A world in which violence and intimidation is used is a world that needs to be held, a world for which we need to weep then discern what wise action can help usher in a paradigm change.

Inside Out - Thoughts on Change Amidst Winter Gray

2011-12-13T09:01:00.000-06:00

Not that long ago, gray days like today were depressing, nearly incapacitating. Then something shifted. I, the non-exerciser who sits listening and writing for most of the day, intentionally began a New Year's resolution two months early. I began to work out or walk most days even when it rained. I strung clear lights from the evergreen at my back door as days grew shorter. If stores could start decorating before Halloween, why not light my little tree? Every day around dusk through February those lights came on. Last but not least, I began really noticing trees. Barren limbs I realized looked like pathways in the sky or arms of praise reaching outward and high.

I'm still not quite sure what possessed me that year. But what I do know is things didn't begin to change. I began to change. Thanks to this accidental recipe of inspiration, action and imagination, I began to experience the outside differently because the inside had changed.

This change didn't make me immune to loss and sorrow. Within a seven year span there were five holidays surrounded by death, four human relatives and my cat of many years all who died just before or after Christmas. Decorating the tree mow means letting the sadness associated with these losses surface rather than ignore it or push it away.

This year the lights are on the evergreen where they'll stay all winter. I work out and walk and still watch the trees. I've also taken to bundling up in the cold and sitting outside. On clear nights even in the city, I savor the star sprinkled Universe holding Earth and watch the nightly shift in the moon's path over my home. When it's overcast, I study the interplay of the clouds colored by soft street light.

The tree's decorated and the sadness felt. I suspect that won't change and that's really more than okay. Rather than block the flow of feeling, I want to let sweet sadness flow through me. Stopping the flow and not being me is a big part of how the gray came to be.

So here at the start of another gray day, instead of checking the forecast to see how long gray's here to stay, I'll take a run/walk, feed the birds and greet the green peppers and lavender still growing in the portable greenhouse, all things that keep the light shining in me.

How do you keep your inner light shining?

Imagine the Shift.....

Dawn, The Good News Muse 13 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Freedom Lights the Way

2011-12-12T14:57:00.000-06:00

"Freedom Lights the Way" or so the matchbook read. Typically I would have
cringed. I tire of the flag being used by many as the symbol of freedom, a freedom with narrowly prescribed parameters often based in fear and exclusivity, not the America the founding fathers had in mind.

This particular morning though I smiled for the patriotic matchbook was part of an ongoing theme.

We had just arrived in the North Carolina mountains the night prior when I felt compelled to take photos of light, the setting sun light reflected on the Tuckaseegee River, lights at Bryson City's "Cork & Bean" and little Holy Spirit lights reflecting outside waiting to descend on unsuspecting passers-by.

I went to sleep that night contemplating light.

I awoke the next morning puzzled by a patriotic outburst in a dream. I had been on stage at the symphony belting out, "land of the free and home of the brave."

I got up, walked to the patio and there lay the matchbook with its message: "Freedom lights the way."

'Yes, it does,' I thought. Freedom does light the way. Every moment, I am gifted with the opportunity to choose my actions and attitude. Every moment I've the freedom to choose whether I will open or close my mind and heart to the people, experiences and possibilities along my path. When I choose the path of loving openness, there is a shift inside, a lightness lights my way.

Yet staying open and not closing my mind is challenging at times these days. Freedom is a hot word thrown about as guns, the economy, immigration, gay marriage and abortion are debated. Many focus on freedom as if there has to be an external enemy to whom we're continually reacting. At times we're our greatest enemy internally living in fear of this 'other' while reacting with suspicion and judgment. We become so focused on freedom in the U.S. we overlook the source of true freedom within US.

I suspect a few of the the founding fathers actually had this inner freedom in mind, something much more subtle and potent than fighting an external enemy in this experiment they named America.

I glimpsed an aspect of this level of freedom upon returning home from North Carolina and learning a friend was soon going home, to the big home, the Unknown.

It may sound strange but when I went to visit Mark I found myself seeing "Freedom light the way" as his face shined light. He was truly not afraid to die.

At the visitation I stood looking at photos taken in his last weeks and days. I could hardly pull myself away from the collage of snapshots as one shifted to another each reflecting a light in Mark's eyes and his smile. I thought, 'This is true freedom. The freedom to leap into the great Unknown with anticipation not fear.'

Except for the sadness of leaving his loved One behind, Mark joyfully made the big leap.

A terminal diagnosis sharpens the focus making one aware the earthly visit in this skin suit is time limited. Ironically we're all terminal as is each moment. One moment arrives then passes to make way for the next in the here and now we have. To live and love openly without fear is truly a great personal freedom.

Maybe this is partially why living on Earth, the land of such possible inner freedom and the home of the brave souls who come here, is so challenging and so dear. Our earth brains have grown accustomed to being wired for fear while our spirits are made for leaping and our hearts for loving.

I want to live in such a way that I joyfully leap into the Unknown every moment, every day. Freedom in this state regardless of where I live will surely light the way.

Mark, did you know you were teaching me this?

I suspect so.

Thank you.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse - 12 December 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

A Morning Musing on Weaving from Bill Murray & Me

2011-12-12T08:11:00.000-06:00

I awoke early this morning thinking of Bill Murray and the concept of "listening from within." It's been nearly fifteen years since he saw me in Chicago's United Center quietly crying because surprise tickets for my young nephews to a game weren't there as promised.

I lay in bed pondering how Mr. Murray was paying attention, watching and listening from within, as hundreds of people filled the Will Call area headed to the Noon game. I then drifted back to sleep.

An hour later, I awoke again thinking of Bill Murray and the phrase "these are the threads we hold in our hands."

Presence, empathy and compassion - these are the threads Mr. Murray held that day.

May we listen from within and become conscious weavers of these threads year round and not just during the holidays.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 12 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.

Of Patterns, Papaw & Patriarchy

2011-12-09T13:06:00.001-06:00

This week at dinner I heard myself tell the cliff notesversion of a story related to my father’s parents. I had
not spoken details ofthis story aloud since summer when my 2^nd cousin sharedit.

This cousin with whom I had never really talked at length and I had a random encounter in March at a high school basketball game. Now Iknow our meeting wasn’t so random. Iasked if he knew who the Native American man was in our family. He told me a bit, but it wasn’t until August as I prepared to go to Cherokee that I called to talk further.

Thirty years ago this year, I had seen a Native man in an oldfamily photo. My cousin was unable tofill in specific details about this mysterious man but I did learn Albert Crowwas my grandmother’s grandfather, the unwed father of her father. To those on prior branches of my family tree,to have a Native in the family and in an unmarried couple at that was somethingof deep shame. Details are few becausepeople refused to speak.

Our speaking of the un-spoken loosed the bondson other family un-spokens. My cousin asked if my father ever spoke of how my grandfather treated mygrandmother. This was the man we calledPapaw, my father’s father who was so very controlling.

I shared how as a child I stood between him and my grandmotheras he yelled at her. I had also heardstories filtered through others after my grandmother’s death as to the abuseshe had endured, abuse my father never spoke of but I suspect haunted him throughlife.

At dinner this week while telling my friend of our family’snative kin and a bit of the above, I suddenly remembered this is the anniversary of Papaw’s death.

Ten years ago he lay dying just down Natchez Trace in anearby hospital. My parents made thetrip to sit in the ICU waiting room all day as I sat for periods of time withthem.

Each night after they returned home, I would check onhim. One night just prior to his death,he kept repeating two words. “Lord’sprayer” over and over was all he said. Inmy grandfather’s dying I glimpsed his terror. I asked if he wanted me to say the “Lord’s prayer” with him or for him.He bluntly said, “No.” I said it aloudanyway.

My cousin shared how his own father did not speak to Papawfor decades because he could not bear how meanly his sister was treated. He quit speaking to him until her death in1981.

At the time of her death my grandfather, I learned, began tocall his brother-in-law and ask forgiveness. My cousin shared how his father listened at times quite regularly to mygrandfather cry and share his sorrow.

This morning I realize my grandfather, the frightened man who lay dying just down the street ten years ago represents the dying patriarchy and the frightened, vulnerable part of us all that triesto control situations out of discomfort or fear of loosing control.

Although I don't think of myself as controlling as Papaw, I too am part of the patriarchy. That night at his bedside my intentions may have been good, but I exerted control, assumed I knew what was best as I said the Lord's prayer rather than honor his request. I said the Lord's prayer as a means to allay my discomfort as much as his. I took control rather than risk vulnerability and share my heart's words, "I'm sad you're scared."

This holiday ten years after his December 23^rddeath, I’m grateful to know Papaw found his confessor in my cousin’s father. Ten years later in my own journey, I'm grateful to remember that speaking from my heart may make me feel vulnerable, yet it is in vulnerability that power lies.

In this time of changing patterns, as competition and control give way to compassion and community, I find myself wondering, "If greedy CEO's and lobbyists suddenly made themselves vulnerable and said 'We're sorry. Forgive us' could I hear them as my cousin’s father heard my grandfather? Can I hear the fears of those who in their angerdon’t even know they’re afraid or vulnerable, the many politicians and white menespecially rallying behind cries for fewer restrictions on guns and theEPA? Can I hold their fear as theyunconsciously sense their numbers are diminishing as America becomes more diverse? Can I offer the dying patriarchy compassion?

As 2011 comes to a close, loose threads from over the decades seem to find their place in life’s tapestry. Broken connections are healed between thegenerations and in the greater connected web as we offer compassion throughopenness, vulnerability and a desire to understand.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 10 December 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Woman Who Loved Trees & The Tree That Loved Her

2011-12-09T12:47:00.001-06:00

I love when an unfinished story finds me at just theright time it seems. After reposting a story from a year agoabout connections with the trees I found the one below. Hours later, Idiscovered why this story found me a year and one day after originally beingwritten.

December 7, 2010

After writing about waking up to lovethanks to a ginkgo and Japanese maple tree, I bundled up to take my walk. Only a few blocks from home, I noticed a power line truck, its bucket extendedhigh in the air with a man inside, I assumed a man working on the lines. As Ineared, I panicked for I realized the truck and the man were near my tree, the beautiful tree with theheart in its trunk.

Just yesterday, I stopped at a distance to take in the entire tree, to fullynotice the branches high above as my tendency is to focus on the heart.

Today I looked at the tree and found half of its side missing. The limbsnearest the power lines had all been cut. I still don't have the words to fullyexpress what I felt. I was relieved to find the tree still standing, yet painedto see half of it gone. I wondered how it felt.

Some people would say trees and plants don't feel yet studies of plantgrowth reveal plants respond to different musical vibrations. Likewise thecommunity of Findhorn, Scotland grew out of what was consideredbarren rock and sand. As the people who felt called to live there began torelate to the spirits of nature, plants began to grow. This once barren area is now home to aninternational teaching and learning community.

I personally know trees feel. The month before while walking in the woods, Ihad placed my face to a tree and heard a scream. I knew in an instant thattrees throughout time have held so much for humankind.
This tree on Natchez Trace felt something. This tree felt me.

I climbed the little hillside and placed my hands on the trunk as icy tearsfilled my eyes. Then I sat down and put my arm around the tree as I would for afriend for that is what trees are to me. They were in many ways my firstfriends. I played among them in the small wooded area behind my childhood homeas well as in the woods at my grandmothers 'on the creek.' I loved climbing thesilver maple, magnolia and mimosa trees at my other grandmothers. I was held bytree arms whether I was climbing trees or pretending a small cluster on therock ledge behind our home was my "house" in the woods.

Throughout time trees have provided arms for me yet here I sat this morningby one of my favorite trees suddenly missing its arms with my arm around it. I sentgratitude and blessing to the tree yet I also held a jumble of shock, sadnessand anger. I tried to hold respect for the men doing their work, hoping theyappreciated the trees in whose arms they worked.

My insides were further complicated by the fact that I was sitting six feetfrom a busy street, cars rushing past this moment of intimacy. The criticalvoice of my father stirred in the deeps wanting to know what I thought I wasdoing. He also loved trees and often said he wished he could have been a hermitliving in the woods. We had much in common yet he would take a condescending tonewith me. Suffice it to say this intimacy thing has been personally challenging whetherwith loved ones or trees in public places.

Yet I was getting better at it because I sat there for quiet some time,recording my experience. I remembered how Peter denied knowing Jesus just priorto the crucifixion out of fear of the consequences. To some this will seemblasphemous, but I thought, 'Am I not betraying the tree and me and denying whoI am and it is if I walk past ignoring it out of fear of what others willthink?' I pondered how my ignoring thedeeper levels of what this tree means to me is really no different from the menwho cut the limbs if they ignore their relationship with trees.

I sat until I began to get bone cold. I dreaded the continued walk, knowingI would see sawdust and twigs from other trees. I walked on surprised to findother trees had not been trimmed.

I made the turn, took a deep breathand headed home knowing I might possibly encounter the tree cutter. I've oftensaid to clients that reading self-help books is the easy part compared toliving what the book suggests. Now I realize writing a story is easy comparedto living what I espouse.

I espouse holding the all of life non-judgmentally yet when I came upon thetruck with the workman in the bucket cutting a tree I was put to the test. Witnessing the assault of something I experienceas beautiful is hard to see. My insides are stretched holding gratitudeand sorrow simultaneously. It was hard to suspend judgment of thisman just doing his job.

Hours later I continued to digest my experience. My deep desire is to realize the sacredteachings of the trees.

December 8, 2011

This morning I came upon the story above unposted at my website. Itstitle "The Woman Who Loved Trees and the Tree Who Loved Her" caughtmy attention. I read it and sensed I never shared it because my pain and ragewere so deep.

Although I had not intended to walk in the morning's cold, I determined Ihad to visit this tree. The heart treeis on my daily walking route. I most always stop to acknowledge it. OftenI feel a circle of loving energy flowing between me and the tree.

On today's walk I kissed the tree and felt the energy. Yet today was different. If you had beendriving past, you would have seen my face beaming for I looked up and sawdozens of little arms reaching out from where the limbs were cut. In the twelvemonths that have passed, the tree has birthed multiple branches from the sidethat was shaved.

I stood on Natchez Trace smiling ear to ear realizing the tree in itswounded places didn’t stop growing. It actually flourished and grew evenmore. I had quite possibly been part ofthis growth through sharing the energy of love and joy over the past year.

What a beautiful, sacred teaching the tree shows me, a lesson in reaching,loving and growing when cut, wounded and pained, of staying open rather thanshutting down.

Hurt people and places within and without need the healing energy of lovesent their way.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 9 Dec. 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Chords of Love Honoring Trees - The International Year of Forests

2011-12-08T09:32:00.001-06:00

Having just learned that 2011 is the International Year of Forests I immediately thought of this piece inspired by my high school friend Tim's music. Upon hearing Tim's music, I felt compelled to play it for the trees. I hope you'll take a moment or three to share this story of reaching for love and honoring trees....

When I’m fully present and aware (not distracted by things I think I have to do or am suppose to do), I’ve a sense of being at home inside myself. It’s in those moments that I hear, sense and see at another level the richer reality by which we’re all surrounded and in which we’re all connected.

For example, recently I stood at the stove cooking when my friend Tim’s music crossed my mind. Thanks to Facebook, Tim and I have crossed paths again. Although we were in high school together we really didn’t know one other. (Can you really know another as teenagers when one hardly knows oneself?) Now over thirty years later, we’ve discovered we’re kindred spirits as we share a love of Nature.

About a month ago, Tim messaged me, requesting my phone number. He wanted me to hear a bit of music he had written. If I liked it, he’d in turn send me a cassette if of course I had a cassette player. I smiled. We’ve at least two or three along with cassettes we occasionally play.

Later that day, the light on my land line blinked alerting me to a new message. (Yes, we still have a land line too.) I pressed ‘play’ and heard these beautiful chords seeming to reach from Tim’s guitar out into the ethers, into the Universe.

A thought crossed my mind as I listened to the brief clip. I thought…

‘This would be soothing to the trees.’

I had no idea which or what trees, but I immediately emailed Tim and shared my impression. He enthusiastically wrote back “Yes, I’d love for you to play it to the trees!” and within days, the cassette arrived.

We had company so I set it aside but I didn’t forget. I sensed I needed to wait for the right time although I didn’t quite know what that meant.

The time arrived last week as I prepared lunch. I stood at the stove stirring when Tim’s cassette crossed my mind. 'Was this the time?' I wondered. 'And if so, why?'

Within seconds of my wondering, I knew. In a magical moment of profound beauty, I knew for I heard. I heard the chain saws.

Tree cutting crews had been roaming the neighborhood cutting the trees I connect and commune with on morning walks. As someone who deeply loves trees and also desires to hold the whole of our world including the tree cutters and loggers in a conscious, loving way, seeing and hearing trees being cut always evokes mixed and deep feeling.

That very morning as I drove Jerry to work, I had noticed two trees one block over stripped of all their branches. I was hurried and didn’t want to see. It was too early to be ‘stirred’ too early to be feeling deeply. I didn’t even walk that day due to the earlier snow. I came home and busied myself until that moment I stood in the kitchen cooking.

That's when Tim's music crossed my mind and suddenly I knew why. The two trees nearby were coming down as all the trees seemed to call to me, “It’s time. It is time.”

I put in the cassette, turned up the sound and imagined the trees as they were cut being comforted by the peaceful vibrations of Tim’s guitar. I felt the sounds reaching the trees all along Natchez Trace, trees now missing their limbs nearest the power lines as well as those that hadn’t been cut. I sensed them all finding comfort as members of their family left this physical plane.

I felt them being soothed by the chords of Tim’s guitar as musical vibrations reached the trees in a beautiful chain of connectedness.

I want to play Tim's music again while walking down my street. I want to play it in honor of the rolling country hillsides where trees are logged daily in our home county not faraway. I want them to feel the vibration of beautiful music as they give their lives to become floors, press board and beams in walls, as they, the trees, become our homes.

I envision ribbons of loving sound reaching around the Earth, wrapping in the vibration of love the great Sequoias and Redwoods of the West Coast as well as the tree covered Appalachians and Adirondacks. I envision all the trees and people on Earth feeling joy and gratitude for the dance that we share, human and nature, connected by the heart's vibration, connected in loving appreciation.

This magical moment while stirring at my stove reminds me there are no ordinary moments. We are surrounded by a much richer reality in which we're invited to engage as we’re present and allow ourselves to be stirred.

Tim’s allowing his heart to be stirred is what originally birthed the piece he shared with me. I learned as we continued to exchange messages that Tim's longing to connect with his deceased wife prompted him to play the guitar chords that resonated with his heart’s chords. These sounds in turn resonated with my heart and my love for the trees. (Is it a coincidence that cords of wood heat many homes?)

In Supai - in Havasu Canyon

What beauty! Tim's yearning to connect, reaching for his beloved, allowed me to connect with my beloveds, the trees.

We humans get entangled debating global warming, the whys and why-nots and the right use of resources. I’m not saying that’s not important but it’s just as vital that we stop our side-taking and remember we are instruments of loving vibration walking Earth.

Nature, the trees, plants and animals, benefit most from our gratitude, from an awake heart, the source of Tim’s music and the source of all beauty.

On this Solstice Eve, the time of darkness, the world is made lighter by the chords of love connecting us all.

I'm grateful to all artists especially men who listen to and express their hearts yearning. And I thank you, Tim, for entrusting me with your music and allowing me permission to share this story.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 20 December 2010

and again 8 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

P.S. Since initially posting this story a year ago, I've walked Natchez Trace several times with my cassette recorder in hand playing Tim's music for the trees.

Happiness is....

2011-12-07T10:18:00.001-06:00

Happiness is...

- the owner of "Dimples" a small store in Linden, TN trusting me to send her a check by mail for the Christmas gifts (American made) I purchased. (Yes, she knows my mother but the fact that she trusts having only met me once makes me smile.)

-buying organic, heirloom seeds for next Spring from the same woman.

-handmade heart-shaped baskets and soaps from the Buffalo River Artists Cooperative.

-finding a pink Christmas tree that wasn't locally made but sure makes me smile.

What stimulates your heart's economy?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 7 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Dream of the Businessman

2011-12-05T10:46:00.001-06:00

(You're welcome to print this out and read later as it's a long one. I just hope you read it and join me.)
For over a week I've avoided writing what I felt as we drove from Tennessee to Iowa for Thanksgiving. The feelings came easily but they and the words that followed did not feel 'good.' Actually a phrase came to mind immediately, a phrase to which I'm unaccustomed.

I looked out the car window and repeatedly thought 'We are so f****d' starting in northwestern KY and continuing for miles into Indiana and Illinois.

I can with sincerity usually find 'good news' in just about everything but not in the smoke filling the air for miles during our trip. Something about seeing and not just hearing about pollution stunned me. The phrase 'Seeing is believing' came to mind. I stopped counting at six although the plants kept coming some near the highway and others on the distant horizon.

I thought of how people are manipulated with negative talk of the EPA and how fear is stirred when politicians and Fox newscasters talk of regulations killing jobs. (Job issues are more complex than this one thing and if CEO's did the right thing rather than pad their pockets regulations wouldn't be needed.) From the looks of what I saw the only things being killed are people in the long run as smoke and chemicals fill the air before making their way to the soil and streams. These 'people' aren't the CEO's or Wall Street employees involved in chemical company investments but ordinary, not so wealthy middle America whose homes surround the plants. I wanted to make those who dismiss pollution stand for several days in the yards of the homes around these factories or along the interstate.

Over the holiday visit in this no stoplight town, my mother-in-law shared that three of the five women in her dominoes group had cancer. Someone in another conversation mentioned that the Mayo Clinic refers to a swath of land beginning on the cusp of where we were and stretching west as cancer alley because of the number of patients from the area. I thought of all the people in my own rural hometown who in the past ten years have died from cancer or are faced with cancer now. I've often wondered what mix of area toxins have contributed to this.

Arriving home on Sunday evening, the first headline that caught my eye was tucked away on page 7 of the day's paper and read: "Environmental programs fall victim to budget cuts." Days later this was followed by an Opinion page devoted to the Clean Air act with writers weighing in on the pros and cons of regulations, the EPA etc.

I've read these stories and continued to think we are f ****d and we deserve to be. We've trashed Creation through our ignorance, arrogance and greed. We don't deserve this beautiful planet. What will it take for us to wake up? Will a massive awakening even help?

Then last evening while going through a stack of papers I had hidden months ago before company arrived I came across a dream I had last Spring, a dream of a businessman with a gift for me. I reread the dream and knew again it holds an important and different message. Most days now I believe it's too late for normal action or legislation to alter what we in our unawareness have set in motion. I believe a way of being not based in science and statistics is called for, a way of being requested in the dream. I'm far from fully embodying the businessman's request but I'm certain he gave me a necessary and vital key.

The Dream

One recent morning, I awoke sobbing. I had dreamed of the creek at my grandparents’ in the country, the creek that flowed past their home and through the field in which their cows grazed. In the dream, my nephews and I made our way through a tunnel of spider webs and wooden boards to emerge on top of a small platform by the creek. I loved this creek. It was the place in my childhood, where tadpoles turned into frogs and crayfish hid among the pebbles. This was where I first saw stones imprinted with tiny fossilized swimming, crawling creatures from eons past. Buttercups grew along the bank in spring, the same bank where in summer my grandmother would spread a pallet, country speak for quilt, where we’d eat sugar and butter sandwiches on white bread, to us a real treat.

These fond memories relate to nature along the creek yet I awoke from my dream crying. I awoke crying because we emerged from below to find the creek was now a swiftly flowing river.

With the contamination and disappearance of streams for a variety of reasons, to see a stream that was now a river should have been a good thing. But it wasn’t. The river had a wood chip mill built alongside it. Water from the river was used to supply power to the chipper as all things wooden – old chairs, tables and planks - were shredded. At one point the shell of a black truck from the 1930’s floated past as I watched horrified.

My father stood on the platform. It was his parents who had owned this land. I looked at him and with urgency said, “We've got to stop this. I'll buy the land.”

With a profoundly sad look on his face, he told me regulations prevented this because once a mill was built on a stream the contract could not be reversed. I compassionately replied, “I know. I know. You did what you thought you had to do. You thought you had to sell the land to take care of the kids.”

I then entered a nearby board room where a businessman was releasing people, salt-of-the-earth people from this dear rural town, from their debts. This is at least how it initially appeared as the man outlined for each person the amount he could financially save them if they agreed to his terms. People were quite pleased he was there to help. I watched as they seemed asleep. In their trust they were blind as to how he was the one profiting from their predicament.

Then the man gave me a document, a piece of paper that held two things in writing granting me debt relief. I didn’t even know I had a debt but I immediately knew I could do the things required of me.

One line read: Sing: “We Rejoice in Earth” a song I did not know but certainly knew I could sing. The line at the bottom of the form read: Owed: Forgiveness. All that was required of me was to sing and forgive.

Weeping, I turned to the businessman and said, “Oh, but I do, I do forgive you. I do.” He looked at me in disbelief as I could hardly get out the words. Between intermittent sobs and gasps for breath, I told him I practiced a meditative prayer honoring the fact that we are all connected and in our unity I am part of him as he is part of me. I could find it in my heart to forgive him of everything.*

I awoke from the dream.

In childhood, I was witness to nature along the creek. In the dream, I witnessed the acts of human nature, acts resulting in inventions like the truck that floated past as well as the acts of using others and their allowing themselves to be used for another's gain. I’ve benefited from these acts and have also been pained. So many of these acts and decisions, like the contract with the mill on the river, cannot be reversed.

Humankind, like my nephews and me, has made its way through the labyrinth of life to this place where the creek of time is now a swiftly moving river of all creation. How many businessmen or men like my father have impacted the river of creation with decisions based on short-term gains for themselves or to care for their children, without thought as to the long-term impact on their children’s lives and health or to the interconnected web that supports us here at home on Earth? How many of these businessmen are now politicians or CEO’s connected to lobbying groups, men unconsciously fueled by fear, trying to gut the EPA while playing on people’s fear, salt-of-the-earth people who trust without thinking? How many businessmen line their pockets exploiting Earths’ resources, precious metals, trees, coal and petroleum or even now consider how they might exploit potential metals on the moon? (Yes, a Silicon Valley group aspires to mine the moon in the coming years.)

I’ve harbored such anger at what mankind has done to Earth and how Nature is treated and mistreated, neglected and used for human benefit without appreciation. I’ve held such anger and despair that at times I didn’t think I could continue living on Earth.

So often I’ve wished for all the money in the world, all the money in the world to buy back the land like I desired in the dream. How many lotteries have I wanted to win so I could buy the remaining fields and forests as well as clear the land of homes of man so Earth could be restored? I cannot buy back the land.

How beautiful then that the businessman provided the answer to my grief as well as his own plight and redemption. The businessman gave me the key to healing and resonance with Mother Earth in these times. The slip of paper offered me held the two acts needed for our redemption, actions coming from the spirit of the human heart.

Singing and forgiving we buy back the land, first the land that is our heart, for how we treat the outer land parallels how we have treated or ignored our inner land. Through reclaiming the heart’s land, we reconnect with the outer land, the land that is Mother Earth.

Singing and forgiving we buy back the land. We awake from the dream of separation to our unity. Singing and forgiving we energetically reverse the contracts that have negatively impacted the web of life.

I need You. The businessman needs you. Earth needs You. Whether you’re a singer, dancer, drummer, laugher, lover, wherever your joy and creativity lives, you are needed at this time. Don't wait until Earth Day!

Let's rejoice in Earth. Let's forgive the businessman for his lack of awareness as to his relationship with Earth, the impact of his actions on the land, air, water and animals and the future health of his children I ask you, your neighbor, your family to join me uniting humankind, to redeem us, to pay off our debt by singing, by rejoicing in Earth and by forgiving ourselves for our ignoring and not appreciating the myriad of ways in which Mother Earth supports us.

We bear witness and yes, those of us of heart may still grieve. It is time to forgive and sing. From this place Mother Earth feels our compassion, our partnership and we re-knit the torn threads in the web of life while just maybe healing and waking the businessman, waking the businessman who gave me this beautiful dream.

Please join him and me

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 11 April 2011
and again 5 December 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

* To learn more about the meditation or prayer form that I described to the man in my dream, click here - Ho'oponopono. I do not have this perfected, but I do know when I practice this simple prayer of "I love you. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I thank you" I and my part of the greater web is healed and at peace.

Goosebumps & Tears - What Informs Your Life?

2011-12-02T13:22:00.001-06:00

"When I allow goosebumps and tears rather than thinking and fear

to inform my journey, I am fully alive."

I recently heard an announcer on NPR reference services they provide as helping listeners live 'informed lives.' I immediately thought, 'What is an informed life? What informs my life?'

Here in the constant information age we are informed continually and often unaware. Commercials and ads tell us what we need. The news and weather tell us what to think and fear. Externally we're bombarded by signs, symbols and slogans in sound and sight bites. Information comes so fast it's challenging to stop and ask who's behind the information or whether there's hidden intent in the things that inform and thus form our lives.

We're born embodied but at a very young age begin to be formed by what we take in primarily through our brains, brains wired since cave days to seek safety and fear fear and discomfort. Seems the media increasingly these days plays on this.

Even the way in which we're informed of the weather has shifted in the recent years. Turn on tv which now includes "Storm Stories" (sorry, Jim Cantori) and adjectives unformed and unused a few years prior abound. Adjectives describing wind, snow and rain stirring fear if one allows. Mother Earth and nature have become the terrorist du jour.

I totally get fear. Fear as my filter in varying shades has informed much of my life. As a child the fear of displeasing those in authority (and feeling rejected or abandoned) informed by life. As an adolescent, the fear of being different and eternal abandonment by a God to be feared informed me.

Briefly in my 20's intuition informed me, resulting in adventures in South Africa, Europe and Russia. The experience of meeting receptive people in other countries expanded my lens informing me of a vast world I had only heard of in bits. Regardless of language and cultural differences, apartheid and cold war, the people I met were inviting and warm. Actually the only 'unwarm' folks I recall were two upon my return who called me a "Communist" and told me to leave Nashville.

Trusting the dance between inner knowing and following up on this sensing in the outer world allowed me a rich experience that informed me about life, love and an unfolding mystery.

Then fear cycled 'round again as I allowed the silent but loud cultural norms of the time to structure my life, get married, work and 'settle down.'

It's only been in recent years that I've awakened to experience my body's visceral, kinesthetic sense and inner, knowing, hearing and feeling again. This may make me different and at times ridiculed but today that's okay. Now 'settling down' connotes digging in the dirt and getting close to Mother Earth.

My life is rich and deep when I allow my bodily experience to inform me. When I'm listening deeply and mindfully, nature, children, neighbors, my cats and partner, patterns and even simple tasks like washing the dishes inform me of what's of value and meaning in my journey.

My body informs me when it's covered in goosebumps. My heart informs me when I'm moved unexpectedly to tears and at times an inner gut knowing informs me.

My body holds my GPS. It's always been there, this equipment I forgot I had. But like many Americans I've lived much of my life in my head. Unlike a vehicle's navigation system where the driver inputs the destination, my GPS informs me of where I'm to go usually one step at a time. The tricky part involves trust and suspending a need to control for I've no idea of the ultimate destination. Come to think of it this is more truly how life works. We make our plans and have things all laid out, providing an illusion of control, then Bam!

I don't have hearing and heeding my GPS perfected, but what I know for now is when I allow goosebumps and tears rather than thinking and fear to inform my journey, I am fully alive. Even when sad and weary I'm grateful to be alive.

What informs you in your journey?
How do you experience being alive in your body?
Do you practice listening to your gut?
When was the last time you knew something inside that didn't make rational sense but you listened anyway?

Imagine the Shift of developing your body's GPS.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 2 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Why Act My Age When I Can Be Me? What About You?

2011-12-02T08:46:00.001-06:00

"Who on earth came up with act your age?"

Last night I ventured into Hillsboro village with Lily for the last art walk of 2011. Knowing Santa was arriving for photos, I dug out the head decor usually saved for Christmas eve.

Two years ago I bought assorted hats and antlers for the extended family Christmas. Everyone humored me singing carols rewritten to suit our family and played a game creating captions for family photos from decades prior. My nephew who's addicted to "A Christmas Story" appropriately won 1st prize, a leg lamp night light.

This year my halls aren't decked but it just felt like fun to deck our heads and drive to the village.

Except for Santa and the six month old in line behind us, we were the only two revelers I saw in Christmas head gear. This was fine until I found myself in Posh in line with very young children and their 20 and 30-something parents waiting to see the guy in red.

After twenty minutes of watching my self-consciousness ebb and flow and feeling like Will Ferrell in "Elf," our turn came. The photo was taken and Santa followed his lines, asking Lily what she wanted and if she had been good. His script didn't call for inquiring of me. Before he could dismiss us, I told him I want World Peace. Actually I told him that Lily's mom couldn't be with us, but she asked for World Peace too. She did.

After free hot chocolate at Fido, more chips from Village Automotive and petting the Humane Association kittens again, I took Lily home but remained an elf for the rest of the evening out.

This morning I've wondered why is it that growing up causes folks to get all serious and leave behind spontaneity and fun except for Halloween or when drinking too much? Who on earth came up with 'act your age'? Did anyone really come up with this or is acting one's age a norm born of a time when it was important to keep us in-line?

I prefer "Be You" or B U in texting terms, not who you're told or taught to be, but the unique U that only U can B! I suspect that would provide a head and heart start to ensuing World Peace.

What does it look and feel like for U to just B U ?

Imagine that Shift .....

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 2 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

To What Are You Drawn? We're Writing the Book of The Times

2011-12-01T11:45:00.001-06:00

I realized this morning both the antique books I purchased in Iowa over Thanksgiving weekend were given as Christmas gifts nearly 100 years ago. One's actually inscribed with 'xmas 1914.' (I wonder if back then folks argued about the whole Xmas vs.Christmas thing?)

I now wonder if I was drawn to these two books partially because of their former owners' energy? Although I've a multitude of books, I've never bought antique books until this day.

Was I drawn to their titles, "Rose Leaves" and "The Daily Altar" or an unspoken recipe of care that went into the making of these books, the writing and production.

We are writing a book today, a book of The Times made of books from our individual lives.

Although I want to go about the putting together of my life through listening and quiet care, I can be easily caught up in excitement and compulsion leading to exhaustion. Even this week I've glimpsed this pattern as stories, experiences and little epiphanies while in the Midwest tried to find form simultaneously through my pen in hand. In the past when this happens I feel more like a story machine, turning out stories without true presence. I sense the energetic, driven-ness prone to imbalance and unawareness that's fueled the machine now driving corporate greed and the many disconnects between inner and outer, head and heart, self and other, self and Nature.

These two books remind me to listen and go slow. Important keys to my soul seem hidden in things the world labels as old.

We are all contributing to the Book of Life. If for a moment you listen, to what are you really drawn? How might you title the chapter you're writing today?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 1 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Every Day is Small Business Day - Inspiration from 1907

2011-12-01T09:36:00.001-06:00

"When I begin the day at my inner altar, my day is altered and my vision changed

so the sacred is more likely seen in everything."

The Saturday after Thanksgiving was designated Small Business Saturday yet every day is Small Business Day for me. I love supporting individuals in this way. Stimulating their economy usually stimulates my heart's economy and its currencies of love and joy.

While visiting local businesses in Eastern Iowa's small towns over the weekend, I was taken by this miniature book at LeClaire Antiques in LeClaire (home I also learned to "Archeology" owned by Mike of Mike & Frank seen on The History Channel's "American Pickers.")

"The Daily Altar" lay on a lower shelf of a glass case. I randomly opened it and was further captured upon reading:

"Make the very corners of my life centres of spiritual loveliness."

Hundreds of miles and days later, I revisited that paragraph today and another line gets my attention:

"help me fill up the vacant places in my life"

In the morning's quiet of my daily altar time, this passage stirs me again yet differently. We're well into the season when we're encouraged to fill even more the vacant places of our homes with stuff and our bodies with food, while many have no homes nor food and I think, 'No more filling up!'

This book dated 1907 was written in a time when vacant places were abundant. Homes weren't filled nor were bellies, yet I suspect many experienced 'enough.' The countryside wasn't filled with sprawl and people weren't unconsciously fed fear through mainstream media.

I ponder the mystery in this. No space is really vacant. Things aren't as they appear. Winter tree branches outwardly empty and barren of leaves hold life stirring in their veins preparing them for spring.

No space is really vacant. Quantum science now tells us the unseen energy of dark matter comprises what we think of as vacant space all around us. Possibility lies in vacancy.

Then I read:

"Make me a wise gardener"

Ah, this is what I most desire to be a wise gardener of my time, my heart and mind, my body and its energy.

And as the seed grows in the dark matter of Earth, I desire to see wisely and compassionately into the dark matters on Earth, to see into the shadows of greed, consumption and environmental disconnect and any roots of such that lie in me. I desire to consciously relate to the places and spaces appearing vacant, to feel and be filled with the energy of conscious creation.

When I begin the day at my inner altar, my day is altered and my vision changed so the sacred is more likely seen in everything.

This small book over a hundred years old found in a small Iowan business reminds me we are each in our own way small businesses, uniquely created, here to go about the business of being ourselves. Come to think of it, that's no small thing.

-Dawn! 1 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

* And check out Nashville's Small Businesses at Hillsboro Villages monthly art walk today from 5-8. Bring a non-violent toy to donate and get your photo taken with Santa. Check out the new Kay-Bob restaurant's grand opening at 6 just down 21st. Music, art and free samples. Bring 2 cans of food for 2nd Harvest and get $2 off you meal. See Friday night's opening of "23 years of Peace in the last 1,000 years" at Scarritt-Bennett and Saturday's Porter Flea, the Handmade Holiday Market (East Park community Center Noon to 8p), the Local Table Holiday Market at downtown Farmer's Market Sat. night just down capital hill from the monthly ART WALK.

It may be winter but shoots of creativity, art and love are sprouting all over dear Earth.

Reclaiming Touch Thanks to an Owl and Words

2011-11-29T08:22:00.001-06:00

The softness of flannel sheets this morning reminded me of the down of an owl I held at the side of the road recently. The soft fur, I was surprised to find close to its body, acts as insulation ensuring warmth. I didn't know it at the time but something about the owl's down awoke my sense of touch.

Later that day when I reached to stroke Bogey my cat's fur I knew this in my fingertips and then again when I drove along gently pulling my hair. My sensory self was awake as I had not been prior to the owl.

The feel of flannel this morning awoke that sense again.

Of the millions of tiny nerve endings just below the skins surface, we've 2500 nerve receptors per square centimeter in the hand or @ 1,000 per square inch if I'm doing correct math. The point is this is a LOT of nerve endings gifting us with touch, our tactile sense.

How is it the word tactile refers to touch yet it's kin in appearance with tactic and tactician words connected to the military, war and strategy? How is it our instrument of touch, the hand, is also connected to killing and war?

Touch wipes tears away.
Touch pulls the trigger of the gun as well as the bomb dropped by a remote plane.
The touch of a held hand conveys "You're not alone. I'm here."
The touch of an angry hand conveys control, instills fear.

How is it a multitude of modern hands today may be more aware of the touch of metal and plastic on keyboards and touch screens than skin? What are the potential long term consequences if type and text unaware of touch?

Touch holds the capacity for such healing and harm.

Likewise the word 'down' has so many associations other than the soft feathers I felt.. How often today do we hear the stock market's down or the economy's taken a down turn? There's 'down' as in unhappy and down as in the opposite of heaven, the hell I grew up fearing as a child, and last but not least 'down there' code for penis and vagina.

And now as Fall concludes much of Nature goes down for awhile, entering the mystery of dark Earth, for rest, rejuvenation and eventual rebirth.

I am grateful for this Mystery coded in nature, words and the birds, especially the owl, waking me to the sense of touch in my fingertips and the power of words. It's down brings me home to who I am.

(And although I'm not a huge football fan the words: Touch Down will never be the same.)

Imagine the Shift of waking up to how you use your hands and the sense of touch, of living life aware of the power in and at your fingertips.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 29 November 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

ilisten, iconnect, itouch

2011-11-28T11:24:00.001-06:00

Thanksgiving morning I awoke thinking of Steve Jobs and all he did for the world. This might have made sense or at least not been unusual if I were an 'i anything' kind of person. My cell phone's over four years old, my preferred pad's a pad of paper and I still have a land line.

Yet I awoke thinking of Steve Jobs and my neighbor Wendy. I had dropped in on Wendy two nights prior. I had gone out at 6:30, now long after dark, to lay to rest my raised beds. It just didn't seem right celebrating Thanksgiving and the fruits of the earth without first bringing closure to my tiny garden and honoring its presence in my life. That's when the seed was planted that I should turn the corner and walk up the street to wish Wendy a Happy Thanksgiving.

We first met in the fall of 2005. I consulted with her about getting dental braces. My father's cancer worsened and I never followed up. Fast forward six years. I decided to see her again but she had left the prior practice.

After tracking her down, I made a second appointment six years later and learned in the intervening years that Wendy had become my neighbor and we had multiple common connections including dear three legged cats.

I debated spontaneously knocking on her door. I don't typically drop in on people except for my 'adopted' family now a few streets over and Judy across the street.

My intuition overruled present societal protocol. I listened. I walked. I knocked and Wendy came to the door albeit apprehensive. Think about it. Today when someone knocks I suspect a solicitor or someone casing the house before a potential break in. People simply don't visit anymore.

I didn't intend to go in. I was happy standing at the door just saying have a good holiday but Wendy insisted I come in. We sat in the floor, enjoying wine and talked as her dear cat of whom I'd heard gave me the honor of loving him.

Thanksgiving morning I lay in bed realizing I am an i-something person.

i listen
i connect
i touch

My neighbor and I enjoyed a spontaneous fifteen minutes of face to face, voice to voice, heart to heart connection that still at least for me has a richness that texting, tweeting or even face booking can't quite match.

Whether i knock, i phone, i touch, or text, tweet or get linked, most importantly I realized whatever I do iopen and ilove.

What about you?

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 28 November 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Green Living Thanksgiving

2011-11-23T08:10:00.000-06:00

Sometimes while writing, I toss paper scraps to the floor where I later pick them up to recycle. Recently I picked up two sheets on which there was empty space. Should these be cut into squares and reused for taking notes so I'm careful to not waste this paper and indirectly a tree? I really just wanted to toss them into the nearby garbage can. If I do will I feel guilt for not taking ten extra steps to recycling? In the quiet, I realize I'm to choose the reuse or recycling options only if I can do these in love and not with the heaviness from doing so tired and begrudgingly.

When I recycle out of have-to, I'm only contributing to the greater quantum level of have-to, force and control while making myself feel guilty and compulsive.

Beneath the suppose to, have to and need to I hear: Whatever you do, do it in love. The tree from which this paper came doesn't grow because it has to. It does what it came here to do because that's what it loves in all its tree-ness to do.

This creates such a shift. I pick up the scrap of paper because that's what I love and love doing.

How often have I run myself ragged trying to get it all done, be a good steward of Earth, recycling, composting, not wasting, donating, saving seeds, signing petitions. Anytime, at least for me, when these things are done with have-to, I'm fueled silently by fear.

In the quiet, I realize more important than being a good steward of the environment is being a good steward of my inner environment, my heart's energy and presence. If I'm an awake, aware steward of my insides, then my outer actions are born from a greater awareness.

Maybe this is really what's meant by "green living." Green's not only the color of tree leaves in Spring but the color of the heart chakra's energy.

This makes me smile inside. Whatever I do, however I be, if I "be" in love I'm more likely to "do" in love too.

I Imagine the Shift of more and more people this holiday practicing green living from the inside out and the green change that brings.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 23 November 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

This Morning's Vision

2011-11-22T07:24:00.001-06:00

Early this morning I sat outside (very unusual for me). The trees overhead reminded me of the brain's neural networks, the web of the internet and the unseen energetic field through which we're all connected.

At 4:00 I had laid in bed trying to decide whether to get up, when I suddenly saw a similar scene with a much grayer sky. In my vision, the face of a wolf appeared in the tree limbs and came toward me. Wolf symbolizes many beautiful things but in this instance I thought of it is a teacher.

Then into my mind came a song line from church long ago. I heard: "I love to tell the story of unseen things above."

Over the past few years the unseen above has been revealing itself to me showing me how the animals, trees and plants come here, how they are my teachers, waking me up to my life and informing me of these Times.

* Other than coffee, what wakes you?
* Who are your teachers?
* What's nearby even now with a lesson just for you?

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 22 November 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

I Imagine A World Like My Tomatoes

2011-11-21T10:11:00.001-06:00

These five little orbs lined up on the counter top prior to becoming a salsa caught my eye and imagination this morning. They've lived on the window sill for some time, their varied shapes and sizes reminding me of people and how we are loved. We are so loved and cared for by earth.

I look at them and am inspired.

I imagine a world in which all colors and shapes of people are honored and appreciated.

I imagine a world in which we all grow entangled and entwined peacefully, like my tomatoes this summer wrapping their vine arms around one another ignoring the neatly arranged placement I created to keep them separated.

I imagine a world in which we're thankful not only for our food, but the wisdom offered by our food and by our fellow man even those appearing so different from us on the outside. For on the inside, just like my tomatoes, we're all alike.

Imagine the Shift of taking the time to really experience food this Thanksgiving. Listen for the little, big lessons you are fed.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 20 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

"It's the End of the World as We Know It"

2011-11-20T09:16:00.005-06:00

I love synchronicities like I experienced this week with a long distance friend. I told her of my waking recently in the middle of the night so very happy and suddenly realizing the Mayan calendar had ended. She referenced stories of fear she had heard in relation to 2012 and people talking of the world's end.

As I pulled into the grocery parking lot (yes, I had been talking on the phone) I said, "It's the end of the world as we know it but that's a good thing. It's a time of change in so many ways."

This is a friend I've known for going on twenty years. We talk maybe 4-5 times a year. We said our good-byes and I went into the grocery with "the end of the world as we know it" humming in my mind.

Thirty minutes at most later, I came out, loaded the car and turned on the radio. NPR was concluding their 'letters' segment with a listener's response related to an earlier R.E.M. interview I had missed. I knew R.E.M. was retiring but honestly didn't know for what they were musically known. I'm the person who knows the songs but not necessarily the singer and yes, sometimes not the correct words. As a child I thought "Angie" (the Rolling Stones) was "I lay in jail."

As I pulled onto Hillsboro Road, the interviewer said, "We'll leave you with this......"

"It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine."

I love when synchronicities affirm messages or hunches. I don't have to have them confirmed but it sure makes me smile inside and out.

It is the end of the world as I've known it. Each and every moment I choose love and openness even when sad or apprehensive, fear subsides and I feel fine, actually more than fine.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 20 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Body Remembers - A Boot Camp Bit

2011-11-18T12:16:00.004-06:00

This week I returned to boot camp at the Parthenon after a two week absence. I wondered what shape I'd be in as jumping jacks and squats outside in the sun and in the garage when it rained were no match for Bill Crutchfield's "Crutchcamp."

Except for forgetting that breakfast isn't recommended just prior to working out, the only time I didn't want to throw up was when we warmed up. Overall I was happy, no I was quite excited, with the shape I was in as Bill took us through his Baskin-Robbins routine, not 40 flavors but 40 different exercises in one minute samples to increase strength, balance and the heart.

When I began boot camp I had little to no strength or stamina. This week I found myself moving through windmills, planks, sprints and donkey kicks with ease compared to six weeks prior.

My body remembered. My muscle body held the memory of being strengthened.

Today in the cold we met inside a nearby local dance school where as part of warming up we jogged two laps around the room. The rhythmic, rubber sound of shoes on the floor immediately took me back to 7th grade and running laps around the gym floor in basketball. I smiled grateful my sensory self transports me to other times and places unexpectedly like this through sound, sight and smell.

I drove home thinking if the body remembers, the heart does too. After eons of control, competition, separation and conquering we're living in a time of the heart remembering itself, of remembering the strength found in vulnerability, relationship and speaking one's truth.

If my muscle and sense memory can hold strength and sound from weeks and decades prior, hearts hardened and seemingly dimmed hold the memory of love and loving tucked deep within. As I honor my heart and come home to me, on a quantum, larger level I help in their healing too.

I imagine the shift of our individual hearts joined, giving rise to the global heart helping it through me and through you remember its beat and the love it once knew.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 18 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

* Check out Bill's boot camp M/W/F mornings at 6:00, 8:30 and 9;30 on the west side of the Parthenon. Starting Nov.28 - $50 a week for three classes for the next 3 wks. until the holidays.

Increasing My Love Stock - Inspired by Carrots, Wall Street and Jesus

2011-11-14T16:58:00.009-06:00

Something about the carrot and parsnip curls gently piling into the sink as I peeled them for lunch recently created a connection I sensed between me and cleaners, cookers and growers of vegetables through time. I often when vacuuming or writing a thank you note am reminded of my mother and others, tenders of home and hearth. This particular day though I felt connected to women and men on farms especially during hard times and thought of how they used everything or allowed it to be used rather than throwing it away. Weren't they the first composters and recyclers?

These ribbons of orange and tan would be left for our "livestock" as we affectionately call them, deer, raccoons, bunny and fox that pass through our country yard at times. The sight of them, like the vegetables I cleaned and cooked, stock our lives with love.

I wonder how the stock market might shift if it were stocked with love? Then I realize it may not be stocked with love but at least it has some love circulating within it. Some funds are socially and environmentally conscious and although I don't know its origin (will have to read up on that) I do suspect those who started the market wanted to care for their families and clients by growing money. Unfortunately the masses I suspect even back then and certainly for now have been slowly left out of the growth of their accounts.

Prior to peeling carrots and parsnips, I had washed a grapefruit. It's label read: Sunkist. I cringed. I wasn't responsible for buying a corporately grown grapefruit. How did this get into my kitchen? Did I really want to eat this?

Yes I did because I also heard it's "Son Kissed" and oddly thought of what Jesus might say about the stock market and Wall Street. I thought Jesus' love is like a kiss to corporations. Bear with me here, but I thought Jesus would say "Dawn, you don't have to agree with what many in corporate America do to send love to the CEO's who have grown greedy. Take stock of how you spend your heart's currency and send love to the agriBusiness guys that are connected to the chemical company/pesticide /restaurant guys (and girls) who make up some of Wall Street. You don't have to approve of what they do, but you do need to send them love just like you love your livestock. You're all connected and they too are the growers and cookers of food even if they do it differently from you."

Loving the fact that we're all here past and present now in this time, increases my love stock.

What stocks your life with love?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 14 November 14, 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Dippity Do - Inspired by Peppers, Wren and a Handful of Youth

2011-11-14T13:09:00.008-06:00

Here on this warm just-before-the-rain November Monday, I savor the green pepper growing in my tiny, portable greenhouse and lavender blooming nearby. A robin drinks from the dish of water I keep filled as a wren sings "Dippity, dippity, dippity, do."

Wren's song takes me back to Havasu Canyon. In early 2009, my friend Karen in NY who was was really more of an aquaintance at the time issued an internet call inquiring if I might want to hike into Havasu Canyon with her, home to the Havasupai in the Grand Canyon's western end.

On our first night after ten long, hot July miles, I lay in my tent expecting canyon quiet while several twenty somethings "next door" began to play dippity-do, a game of some sort unrelated I was certain to the pink hair styling gel with which I had grown up.

Here I lay in this most sacred of places, home of the blue green waters of the Havasupai people expecting to feel a sense of sacredness, hoping to hear the wisdom of this place and instead I lay judging these young adults whose laughter was amplified in the narrow canyon. I lay there witnessing my disappointment and the expectations of silence that I didn't even know. Internally I debated, trying to discern what to do. Should I say something, nothing or.....should I join in? Just as I decided to get up, walk over and ask if I could play too they stopped. I had actually become curious as to dippity-do.

The next day all but a couple of them packed out but not before helping Karen and me move a table to further set up camp. They left me appreciating them, feeling kin to these young women and men, fellow trekkers on life's journey.

Today I realize in this growing, greenhouse that's Earth all is woven together as I listen with my eyes and insides whether I'm gardening, hiking, working, playing, waking or sleeping. In this trek together wren and these youth remind me of the importance of play and singing through dippity-do.

How do you listen? What do you hear when you really stop to listen? How do you experience play?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 14 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Litely, Loudly - Spirit's Messages

2011-11-12T12:05:00.005-06:00

Faint morning light shone on the tree above outside. Spirit is like this at times steadily, quietly in our lives illuminating what's right before us to be seen.

At other times Spirit whips through like the howling winds up from the valley below sending messages loud and clear. This morning I looked out the front door and saw sheets blown from the geraniums. Cold has finally come and I had put them to bed not to die but to be covered hoping to extend the lives of our many plants. I am to my plants the way some folks are to life seeking elixirs and fountains of youth not wanting to let go.

Litely, loudly through light and wind Spirit's messages are sent.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 12 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Moon Magic

2011-11-12T11:57:00.003-06:00

The moon disappeared over the horizon this morning as I called out "Thank you." We have found one another over these past two nights and although it's no longer visible I carry it inside.

We think the sun's so necessary and it is. It coaxes life from the earth each Spring drawing everything out to resurrection.

Yet over these past two days and nights I've been experiencing the magic and necessity of the moon and how each night as we sleep it pulses its gentle energy to Earth below. Infusing plants, people, animals and trees, it sends magic to all.

Dawn, the Good News Muse, 12 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

A Message from the Universe

2011-11-10T20:34:00.004-06:00

One recent night I lay in bed not knowing the time but certain it was night. The black in my field of vision began to move like slowly shifting fog. In the moving darkness, I saw light like the shining of the sun over the horizon in dark space. Did morning near?

I kept my eye's closed curious as to what I was seeing though Bogeysattvah, pawing at the nearby lampshade had something else in mind. I opened my eyes to nudge him from the nightstand and saw the faint glow of morning around the curtain's edge. Maybe I had seen dawn's arrival in the dark.

I closed my eyes again but this time found myself in the Universe slowly moving among the stars. This first happened a few years ago but never had what followed happened prior. Some of the stars began to gently burst. I was in a shower reminiscent of white fireworks gently raining in the Universe. Veils of wispy energy were the only visible remains of those stars.

Slowly the veils came together to form a lotus-like shape with a black center that pulsed energy. I lay in bed realizing this center of seeming nothingness held the energy of everything, the energy of creation sent to us here on Earth, an unseen energy that is the energy behind all energy.

The vision continued as the remaining stars suddenly became a heart on an American flag. In place of the fifty states on the flag was a heart made of stars that glistened like diamonds.

As I became concerned as to how I would remember all of this I saw a grid. In a universe of blackness, dots of light appeared row upon row an equal space apart as if on a grid where patterns might be laid.

My eyes still closed, I lay in bed mentally noting the sequence of the scenes as Bogeysattvah pawed again at the lampshade conveying his need to be fed.

In these past two weeks other scenes have arrived at night. I've pondered what I'm being shown, what I'm being told and how to share these scenes of light at night. Although it didn't feel quite right, I first thought the story sequence was as I saw it. Then last week I awoke from a nap. The scenes in reverse were going through my mind starting with the grid and ending with the light, the light of New Times.

Then today on the eve of 11/11/11 as the sun set and the full moon rose suddenly this came.

The grid has been laid for the flag of love to fly as we've the opportunity and help from beyond to create the paradigm of Love. The stars give of themselves, find new form and come together to pulse creation's energy and usher in the light of a new time. It is morning on Earth and in the Universe. We are witness to and participants in the dawning of a new era.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 10 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Earth Is Our Pillow - A Tribute to Soldiers, Earth and the Heart Inspired by the Pillow from My Childhood

2011-11-10T10:46:00.006-06:00

Last night I smudged my pillow. I had awakened yesterday realizing I still sleep with the pillow from my growing up, the same pillow into which I cried so many nights, the same pillow under which I put my head to hide the sound not wanting to be found.

Using sage bought earlier this summer in Cherokee, I asked that any aloneness and sadness this precious object of the pillow and my heart still held be energetically lifted. I honored the sensitive girl who felt so deeply for others and herself. I honored my heart's loneliness then asked that I be able to hear and see more clearly my story and the beauty of all those tears. This was far from a sad thing. I actually felt joy for the girl and woman who has cried and cried.

Then this morning as I sat outside I realized Earth is a pillow. How many tears has Earth absorbed, tears of soldiers dying on her breast from war? How many tears has Earth absorbed as family members left at home have hidden their grief from those they don't want to worry or from those whose judgment they fear? How many tears has Earth absorbed in America alone as our ancestors killed our native kin, the 1st Americans? There's a reason the Cherokee called it the Trail of Tears.

Then I realize I literally mean Earth is like my pillow.

Around this time last year while walking in the woods, Jerry and I stopped at a stream. He sat on a rock while I leaned against a tree. Pressing my cheek on its rough bark I felt comfort within. Not wanting to neglect the other side of my face, I turned my cheek so it too could feel the tree. My breath was taken though for I heard a blood curdling scream. I realized I was hearing the cries of people during crusades and witch hunts, those burned at the stake centuries prior for the stakes were made of....... trees, trees that had absorbed these dear souls cries. (Later I spoke with someone about the many trees that absorbed tears into their roots, tears of the many who sought safety in the woods to grieve in hiding for fear of being found. I wondered is this why man so easily clear cuts the land, removing millions of trees while unconsciously trying to remove themselves from an ancestral legacy of guilt due to their connection with the patriarchy and control.)

Hearing the cry in the tree happened just before the Winter Solstice at which time I lay on the Earth and invited the trees in my backyard to give up their sorrow. I hadn't planned this. It's just what came to me as I sat outside on this the longest night of the year. Now that I think of it I offered myself as a human vessel to not only free the trees from holding human sorrow but to also change that sorrow to peace and joy. I lay in the grass in my little city yard and wept and laughed as the trees above me seemed to sway and do the same.

The trees have been our pillow.

And the rocks have been our pillow.

This summer the night before we were to drive to Cherokee, NC for a brief and first visit after having not been there in over twenty years, I lay exhausted thinking I could not make the trip, wondering if I harbored some illness unseen. Jerry persisted that we needed to take this little trip although I truly didn't know how I could make it.

For some reason as I walked through our yard in the country, I sat down on a rock. Then as I had never done before I lay back on this boulder jutting from Mother Earth's edge and felt all my exhaustion drain, go away. As sure as I am sitting here I felt the rock take my depleted state.

This is what I mean when I write Earth is a pillow. Just like the pillow in my growing up years took every thing that poured from me, Earth takes and takes and takes. She takes our tears, absorbs our exhaustion and waits.

Earth waits for us to claim who we really are and who She is.

Just as the energy shifted for me and my pillow last night and between the rock, the trees and me this year, Earth our energetic, giving, receiving pillow only needs us to occupy our hearts and minds and thank her for her sensitivity and her huge heart, to claim who she is and claim who we are.

This is the internal climate change that will shift Earth's climate change.

Wake up to that Shift !

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 10 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Saved by Love Occupying the Heart & Natures Messengers Occupying Earth

2011-11-10T08:56:00.012-06:00

Upon hearing of Friday night's possible 20-something degrees, I was struck by a sense of grief. My thoughts turned not to my homeless, human kin but to my flower children, zinnias grown for the first time this year. They've shared their beauty with me for three months. With each bouquet clipped more have arrived in my not-that-sunny front yard where they've grown some to 6' tall seeking sun.

This summer the zinnias have been my messengers, their vibrant, busy, star-sprinkled centers have drawn me in to wonderings and knowings related to the universe and energy.

Intellectually I know about the cycles of light and death, impermanence and letting go. Yesterday's Musing contained that very thing. Yet last night my sadness was palpable as I knew the end of the zinnias neared.

In this morning's cold, I came to the yard swing again. I sat and heard the sounds of a familiar yet forgotten bird. It took awhile to realize the trees in my small city yard were home to returning robins who congregate here certain times of year.

The robins are back!! How perfect that I would be surrounded by robins who symbolically represent "new growth." My 2nd thought was of the zinnias. Robins reminder of new growth was all I needed to peacefully and joyfully let my flower children go. (Actually I think I heard the zinnias say, "Yes, let us go so we can move on" reminding me of the times we hold on to those dying when they want to let go.)

I've read spiritual and self-help books galore about letting go, non-attachment and the temporariness of this world, yet none of these teachings really fit or feel right for me. This morning I realize I'm someone who engages through occupying my heart. Doing so last night and allowing my grief, followed by this mornings bird messengers I joyfully let go and invite what's next in this beautiful cycling of life on Earth. From this place, beauty is what resonates with me.

My thoughts now turn to my homeless kin as well as the 1% and all of us in between. If we fully occupied our hearts and minds, might we realize the profound beauty of living life on Earth in relationship with Nature and one another? If we realized the beautiful gift we're given through life on Earth, I suspect systems would shift from exploiting and competing to something more kin to honoring, respecting and thoughtfully cooperating. If conference calls and board meetings included going outside and listening to the messages all around us and this gift of life on Earth, we would take only what is needed. There would be more than enough for all on Earth. Homelessness, poverty, environmental degradation and greed would certainly lessen if not cease.

This morning I am saved by the zinnias at death's door, robins 'occupying' my yard and the beauty of living on Earth, engaged with Earth. Occupying my heart and mind, I'm joyfully attached to my heart's call, grief, joy and all.

This morning and all the mornings to come, we are saved, saved by the beauty of allowing love to occupy the heart and Nature's messengers occupying Earth.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 10 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Celestial Cyling - We Are Partnered

2011-11-09T08:57:00.009-06:00

Last night rather than dread the dark, I invited the nearly full moon into my awareness. I'm usually moon mindful but darkness arriving around 5:00 challenges my attitude. I stopped work and made time to sit outside and watch the moon.

It's glowing body had just cleared a neighbor's roof as crickets sang in surround sound. Back up singers held a constant note while others varied their tone keeping a one, two beat joined at times by the low hum of passing cars and their people bound for home.

A cardinal called from a neighboring yard. Did it realize the feeder's been restocked? Another responded from nearby.

Hot jasmine tea in my cup
Fuchsia azaleas to my left blooming in this their first fall
A red Japanese maple to my right
Partners in this new time of dark
and light
under the umbrella of a moonlit sky.

Hours later

This morning instead of sitting inside I returned again to the same spot as last night.
The birds sing like it's Spring.
A mason bee breakfasts in the azalea, each blossom a bowl of nectar.
The sun rises where hours prior climbed the moon.

I"m reminded of a scale, the Libra kind,
our solar systems balancing act.
Maybe it's more like a wheel, a great turning wheel of day and night, light and dark.
A Celestial cycling, dancing round Earth.

Meanwhile back on Earth in this city space I call yard
the dynamics of the dance surround me.
Leaves once green now fall.
Trees once full are barren.
Birds migrate as plants return to earth to rest and recharge.

In the quiet within I hear: Pay attention, take note.
The subtle shifts all around mirror the shifts within.
Let go, listen.
The celestial cycling is here.

We are partnered.
We are partners in this new time of dark and night, day and light.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 9 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Way - An Unexpected Pilgramage

2011-11-07T22:36:00.017-06:00

Last night I went to see "The Way" a film written and directed by Emilio Estevez in which Martin Sheen plays an American who travels to France to gather the remains of his son killed in a storm while walking the Camino de Santiago.

I wasn't as interested in the story as much as I was in seeing the terrain of the Way of St. James. For a thousand years people have walked this many miled path in France and Spain across the Pyrenees.

I awoke on my 50th birthday in LePuy-En-Velay a French starting point for the pilgrimage and attended the early morning service blessing those beginning the trek.

Two days prior I had been in St. Maries de la Mar, the town by the sea where the three Mary's (Mary Magdalene, Salome and Jacobe) and others including Sarah, revered now by the Romano gypsies as St. Sarah came to land after Jesus crucifixion. I was in St. Maries on the day honoring St. Sarah. I stood through not one but two services in an ancient feeling church packed with worshipers from all over Europe and yes, a few tourists. After the second service, the statue of Sarah was brought from the crypt and taken through the streets then out into the sea where she was ceremonially brought in from the water symbolic of her initial arrival in Southern France.

That May day in St. Maries as well as during last night's the movie I wondered how do we as a whole take pilgrimage? Where do we show the devotion, reverence and energy I saw and heard in Southern France in that church filled with people, gypsy people who are looked down upon in much of Europe? What events prompt Americans to stand and congregate for hours at a time?

Thus far the only events I've been able to come up with are sporting events like the Super Bowl or the upcoming Black Friday shopping day and maybe a handful of concerts or an event like Bonaroo. I'm not anti sports or shopping and I'm certainly not anti Bonaroo, but what does it say about us that the events in which we show devotion are primarily related to sports and shopping? What does it mean that we devote more time to watching tv or being on line talking or texting sound bites to others rather than spending face time with those under our roof?

I imagine one day walking The Way but for now I wonder how I might live daily more in a way that honors spirit, creation and the heart?

Pt. 2 - Then morning came.....

Rather than post the above late last night after the movie, I decided to sleep on what I had written and leave editing for fresher morning brain. Morning came and the last thing I wanted to do first thing was sit at the computer.

Instead I went outside hoping to find the book end for a piece begun at day's end yesterday prior to the movie. Thirty minutes into the experience of hearing the birds sing like it's spring and watching a lone bee dine at the azalea's fall blossoms, a cat crept under our arbor and made a left turn headed toward Natchez Trace. I know all the usual feline suspects hanging around the bird feeders. I love cats but always ensure they're scared away. I love birds and know most cats do too.

This wasn't just any cat. This was the cat, the lost cat, I read of yesterday on the neighborhood list serve. How many furry white cats with a black tail and black spot atop its head could there be in my neighborhood or zip code for that matter. I sprang from the swing and called out "Max". The cat looked yet stayed left which meant it was headed for the busy morning traffic on Natchez Trace. I grabbed our house phone, a can of food and searched for my cell. Every neighbor I called with quick internet access to the owner's number was either out of town or at work.

Without a thought I headed barefoot and house coated down our drive and up Natchez Trace. First though there was Kent the Culligan man who had pulled into our drive to do a repair. I think I apologized for my appearance as I ran through a neighboring yard and shouted, "Go on in." Kent looked as if finding customers in situations such as this wasn't all that unusual as I thought this is another Lucy moment in my life.

Morning me raced up busy Natchez Trace mindful the last time someone in our household did this in a robe and barefoot was in the mid-90's when I hurriedly left home to prepare for a friend's wedding reception and left the back door open. I returned a couple of hours later to get ready for the wedding to learn tenderfoot Jerry had chased Templeton my indoor, three pawed cat several houses down the street while nearly blind having forgotten his glasses. Jerry at least couldn't see the passers-by possibly looking at him yet the last thing I actually cared about was people seeing morning me.

I rushed up the sidewalk only caring that this cat somehow come to me. Fortunately someone walking their dog had delayed Max's crossing Natchez Trace. He sat tucked in the brush by the neighbor's shed still unwilling to come to me although the sound of the pop top on the cat food can caused him to look twice before turning back toward my yard. For the first time a cat was headed into our tiny bird sanctuaried yard and I was glad. I walked through accumulated sticks and leaves behind the shed and placed a bit of food on the ground then rushed in to ensure Kent had found our basement.

Max found the food but wouldn't come to me. Even if he did where would I put him? Neither of my cats would be happy with company even for a short time. I ran out and put more food down but this time nearer the house. Max ate while I got Mystery and Bogey's traveling carrier out of the car.

The third time was a charm. Max ate more food then rubbed his furry white body around my feet talking a lot and loudly. I scooped him up, placed him in the carrier and immediately got on line to find his people. For one brief second the thought did cross my mind, 'What if this isn't their cat?'

Max who I realized upon rereading the email was Flurry had gone missing Sunday evening from a house streets away. I don't know who was happier upon finding him, the owners or myself. I say this because I see the "Lost Cat/Dog" signs posted on my neighborhood street corners just about every day. I see the wandering cats and dogs around the country town I frequent and wonder with whom they live or lived. I feel not only for the owners (because I've been a lost cat owner) but also for the animals.

Awaiting his owners arrival, Flurry howled in the cage that smelled of others. I opened the door and he crawled to my lap and sat purring, his head tucked under my arm at times and at others looking into my eyes as I stroked his chin and nose.

It was during our communion that I realized being in nature and finding this dear cat revealed my pilgrimage. Devotion to Nature, the animal world and those who love animals and nature is what my pilgrimage on Earth is all about.

Loving is my pilgrimage. (Does this include loving people who eat huge steaks? Yes, if they truly savor and enjoy their experience and aren't just mindlessly stuffing themselves by doing as advertisers suggest. Does that include hunters who stalk deer near my country home? Yes, if they're honoring the animal and savoring the experience of the hunt and not just setting traps sold at stores luring deer to a corn feeding station where they're shot on site. That's not hunting in my book. That's falling prey to the easy, lazy way marketed in magazines and sporting/big box stores all around. That too is another story.)

After this flurry of unexpected activity, Flurry and his owners are now reunited and I realize the walking of the way isn't as important as much as the way I am inside, my inner attitude. Will I stay awake and open in love or fall asleep and become closed in fear?

This morning's flurry taught me the Way is both in and out, doing and being and that openness is key. My external path this morning took an unexpected turn but The Way was still my heart's Way through my deep love for animals and their people.

As I leave this computer to continue my day, I leave you with these thoughts: How do you experience the sacred in your daily walk? To what do you show devotion? What do you revere? What would you stand all day to get to experience and honor? What might pilgrimage look like to you? Imagine that.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 8 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

P.S. As for Kent from Culligan, after catching the cat I ran to the basement to see if he needed anything. The lights were out. His van was gone. The repair I suspect had been made. I'll call shortly to learn more and express my gratitude. Insurance companies and banks, once rooted in service, now it seems desire more to grow their bank CEO's bank accounts than grow personal relationships. Small business owners like Kent inspire me with acts like this morning as they honor the relationship we have one with another. Folks like Jim my neighbor in the country who last week within thirty minutes of hearing of my door issue had it repaired...that too is another story to be continued I suspect as I try each day to walk the way of love in this pilgrimage of life on Earth.

Fire & Light

2011-11-07T11:07:00.004-06:00

The maple
has begun
to rain down
its fire and light.

Earth's soil
and
my soul
are fed.

What feeds you?

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 7 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Flower Power

2011-11-07T10:34:00.005-06:00

With Summer's drought and heat a distant memory now replaced by one of the most beautiful Falls I recall, flowers have reawakened around our home. The fuchsia and African daisy (I think it's called) have returned to life just when I thought them dead. Their resilience reminds me of the heart's beauty. In the drought of seemingly unkind times and the heat of grief one can wonder will love prevail, is there any love left?

Growing up in the church of my childhood revivals were held each fall. A guest speaker would arrive to preach for the week injecting believers with reminders of new life before 'the ends' hard times.

Earth's flowers are now my revival reminding me of light, light held in soil and soul as winter's days grow dark and temperatures cold for a time. Earth's flowers and trees remind me the heart quietly stays alive and returns to life no matter how hard the times.

What revives your heart and reminds you of its steadfast presence?

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 7 November 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

A Fall Gift

2011-10-23T21:53:00.005-05:00

So often Nature stirs the maternal in me. Today on the bluebird house, unoccupied all summer, sat a bird. Binoculars confirmed what we thought was a sparrow was a bluebird. Throughout the day three bluebirds went about taking turns flying in and out of the house preparing their winter's nest. There's something perfect about seeing the hummingbirds off last weekend and finding other feathered kin moving back in. (The blue birds have been absent all summer.)

I was reminded of Valentine's Day three winter's ago when it started to snow. Knowing we had the drive to Nashville in uncertain conditions before us we prepared to leave early. Just as we stood at the back door to say good-bye a bluebird flew into the bird house, followed by another, then another. We watched amazed and delighted as six bluebirds piled into the little house seeking warmth from the sudden snow. For two people who love birds, this little blue brood was a perfect Valentine's gift.

Today a fall gift landed in my lap thanks to the blue birds. Hopefully they're as happy to find their home awaiting as we are to find them.

What gifts of Fall landed in your lap today?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 23 October 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Brought to Life - Brief Thoughts on Joy

2011-10-23T21:10:00.003-05:00

I came initially to the country alone this weekend for the first time in nearly a year. In the quiet Friday night I felt my insides stir as I looked out the window. The deer, a doe and her two fawns have passed through several times this summer yet this night the three of them bring tears of joy to my eyes. Being here is such a gift. Seeing sunset, hearing a wren, covering tomatoes, herbs and ferns for the predicted frost, all simple things these beautiful Earth gifts.

I am happy to be able to feel. It's not always been this way. Those on the outside would never know the fears and tears that have filled my insides.

Something flies past the window, a bat or an owl. Last weekend, three bats flew up from the rocky bluff below darting and dipping nearing the ground as we sat before fall's first fire. Then three herons flew just over the tree tops calling and later an owl quietly passed through on a whisper.

To feel joy is such a gift. Joy is what I heard in the voices of a South African choir in a tiny homeland church in the 80's. Joy is what I saw in the faces of Russian people, young and old, in the 80's before the wall came down. And joy is what I will feel this weekend as I turn eighteen pounds of organically grown Roma tomatoes from just over the North Carolina boarder into salsa. Just the thought of tomatoes everywhere makes me smile. Even as I write tears come again to my eyes.

I came to tears of joy late in life. Better late than never. I want to have cried tears of laughter, joy, sorrow, why, gladness, goodness and sadness. I want to have lived without regret, to have paid attention to the ritual and rhythms of nature.

I came to the country alone and am reminded when I am listening I am never alone. Through Earth's simple, beautiful gifts I am brought to life.

What brings you to life? What brings you joy?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 23 October 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Lupine, Foxy and A Work-Out for My Attitude

2011-10-21T11:55:00.004-05:00

Early this morning I sat at a busy Nashville stop light on my way to a work out, a work out I missed earlier in the week and didn't want to miss today. At the opposite corner stood a young woman, her bike on the ground, a phone in one hand and a dog by its collar in the other. The woman was either trying to help or find the owner of an uneasy beautiful, big German Shepherd which anxiously watched cars speed past. The dog got away and zigzagged among the cars toward my side of the street just as an SUV rounded the corner. The driver slowed with his window down, his face showed a concern similar to mine as the panicked dog ran up a side street.

In a split second I knew finding the dog was more important than exercise so I drove around the block uncertain how I would coax it to me and into my car but determined to try.

Nearing a complete loop of the block, I discovered I was not the only one. There on the sidewalk sat the man in the SUV, Steve a Vanderbilt resident new to Nashville and just off from work, realized the dog was alarmed. Rather than force himself on the dog, he sat down on the sidewalk and the dog came to him.

Just as I got out my phone, up walked a young woman from across the street. Lupine, a shelter dog, had lived with her for two weeks. She thought his owner had died. Unaccustomed to being outside, he had gotten out an gate left accidentally open moments prior.

Lupine returned home as Steve and I talked about dogs and the students in his prior town who would leave on fall or spring break and abandon their pets in neighborhoods hoping they'd be taken in as well as the earlier rescue of over 100 puppy mill dogs not far from Nashville.

I eventually made it to my work out having worked out my attitude gifted by this little chain of interactions starting with the girl I'll never know who initially found Lupine at the stop light and continuing through Steve, me and Lupine's new owner. I feel for this dog adjusting to new life without his former owner.

I flashed on another dog encounter a mile down the street when a neighbor strolling her son came upon Foxy darting in and out of traffic as drivers yet again seemingly oblivious passed. My neighbor got Foxy and was strolling her son home while calling the owners when Foxy ran into our backyard. I happened to hear my neighbor outside talking to someone so I stepped out. I stepped out as Foxy in just a few seconds walked up the steps into my house. Having been stuck writing, I welcomed the diversion, quickly shut two doors to keep the cats away and sat on the floor as Foxy first nuzzled her face under my arm then lay down exposing her belly so I could pet her.

That day I was reminded of how blessed I am to have neighbors who are kind, thoughtful and love animals. This day I am reminded of how blessed my neighborhood and the world are to have people willing to exercise their heart's and extend themselves to animal kind, nature and human kind. Both days I've been struck by the many people who seemed oblivious and drove past, not even slowing down. These are the people with whom I am impatient. Does speeding past keep them from presence and from feeling? These folks and the recent events in Ohio were why my attitude needed a 'work out.'

It's hard at times to extend myself to humankind when any animal is hurt or neglected be it by random drivers or as happened with the man in Ohio who freed animals he should have never had (in my opinion) then killed himself.

While out of town, I periodically saw a tv headline referencing "Wild animals". As usual when I see this phrase I thought, 'Man could learn from so-called wild animals.' We could learn lessons of getting along from the wolf valuing family and the pack or from the multitude of internet photos that circulate of seeming 'enemies' as companions like my favorite of the the baby bobcat with a fawn during a West Coast fire. I often feel the animals and Mother Earth are trying to wake us up and get our attention to what's really of value in this world yet most of us, including myself drive past like those in their cars of whom I complain.

I was deeply sad to learn more about what happened in Ohio. I've since read the man was in much debt yet I still considered his letting the animals out such a selfish act. Surely he suspected they would be killed which outraged me too, that and how people panicked rather than just shut their doors and keep their kids inside. To read of the tigers, bears and lions killed by the authorities got my day off to a really bad start which continued until meeting Steve and Lupine, seeing the girl with the bike on the corner and recalling Foxy, Jo, Clare, the Humane Association where Lupine was left, the Animal Rescue Corps and all the folks I know who value, care for and love animals in our world.

Those who exercise their heart's compassion in a myriad of ways bring me back to a place of peace and gratitude for this walk on Earth.

How will you exercise your heart today?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 21 October 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Sound and Sight Bites - What fills you with wonder?

2011-10-13T10:30:00.004-05:00

For nearly a month I've been out of the usual birdseed for our feeder and have resorted to using millet which I usually leave on the ground for mourning doves. The sparrows haven't seemed to mind. They've flocked to the feeder, crowding themselves on the little bar while the cardinals, blue jays and chickadees have vanished. Their absence has been because of my neglect.

Yesterday I finally made the short drive to Berry Hill's Wild Bird's Unlimited. Within thirty minutes of replenishing the feeder a cardinal came to feed. Why does it take me so long to do the things I know feed not just the birds but me? I sat in wonder considering how it is the cardinal knew there was fresh seed.

This morning just as I got up a blue jay showed up. I sat on the sofa coffee in hand watching as questions also arrived, questions I've heard in writing circles for sometime.

From the mists of morning mind I heard, "What's my platform?" and "What's my message?"

In the past I've resisted trying to distill my message into a sound bite or for a particular audience known in the writing world as a platform. To do so seems more like a gimmick intended to impress and capture the attention of an agent, publisher or Oprah. This also requires having a mind. Navigating menopause has deleted my old mind for now at least.

Morning mind is fresh and uncontaminated by the build up of thoughts from the day. This morning those two questions came and resistance had not yet shown up for work.

In this freshness I knew my message at least for today is being open to love and wonder. That is certainly what I was as I sat watching the blue jay, chickadee, a cardinal and yes, the sparrows. I wondered in wonder how it is the birds know the seed has been replenished?

For now I am my platform, an audience of one for what matters most is that I listen to me and be mesmerized by the sound and sight bites of birds, falling leaves and the changing colors of the trees.

By what are you mesmerized? What fills you with wonder? Imagine the Shift.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 13 October 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

A "platform" may be comprised of an Internet or media presence, a very strong reputation in a particular field, a TV show, affiliation with a popular brand, a connection to a popular writing collective, celebrity status, or ownership of the world's largest soapbox.

When it comes to platform: publishers want authors to have it, especially for nonfiction, and it doesn't hurt for fiction either.

That's because especially for nonfiction, we trust and consider brands when making our purchasing decisions. We want to buy our books from the world's foremost authority on the subject. But just as importantly, a big platform allows an author to effectively promote their work.

Hence, publishers want you to have it. It's not everything, and don't get carried away trying to build platform at the expense of writing your book. But in your spare time as you're writing, it can be helpful to get to work building that giant soapbox.

The Naming of Trees

2011-10-12T14:38:00.010-05:00

Recently I sat on the deck under moonlight naming trees all around me. Aloud I called out "Oak, Maple, Apple, Elm, Cedar, Pine, Birch, Dogwood, Walnut." I named trees because trees love to be named.

Earlier in the day I had gone to the Frist Art Museum to the curator's talk for "To Live Forever" the new exhibit of Egyptian artifacts from the Brooklyn Museum. I was fascinated to hear the importance Egyptians placed on remembering a person's name especially after their death. I pondered how many Americans do just the opposite. Someone dies and we avoid the saying of their name for fear it will upset someone if not be upsetting to oneself. The importance of names and naming I suspect is what got me to naming the trees later that night.

I named the trees around me and wondered what happens when we stop naming things? Do species begin to fade, do they forget who and what they are because they need the interface with us, the relationship experienced through our naming them? Do things actually become extinct because we stop appreciating them?

I recall thinking something similar when my grandmother was in a nursing home years and years ago. We called her Granny. The staff called her Mrs. Young. Her name was Sarah. Sarah. Sarah. Sarah.

I wondered then if dementia occurred because our elders slowly begin to fade as they stop hearing their names. When their parents, peers and spouses pass, who's left to call them by their name. We say it's a sign of respect to use Mrs. or Mr. yet do we really respect our elders? If we did, wouldn't we sit and listen to their stories, ask them questions, desire their wisdom?

I named aloud the trees and thought in this Tree-and-Me relationship as I honor them they in turn share their lessons and energy. Ours is a love relationship which reminded me of how partners forget to name one another and the distance that ensues. How often do I think I know my partner of twenty years when in truth I suspect I've only begun to know him.

I named aloud the trees and thought of folks who act in ways that wound. Do they forget their goodness because those who know them forget to name and call out their love, their light? Slowly separated from who they came here to be, do they become something other?

I named aloud the trees and considered how ceasing to name is sign of being disengaged and disconnected. I get busy, focused on things I must do and forget the things before me. There's another layer though stirring here, something related to intimacy. If I let myself not just say the word, but actually feel the experience of my relationship to what I'm naming then I am open to a fuller engagement and relationship. I am vulnerable to feel the loss of a love, the cutting of a tree, the breaking of my heart yet I carry with me the experience we have shared and I carry more of me.

In naming aloud we remember and re-member. We bring back into ourselves aspects ignored and forgotten. We remember more of who we fully are. An honoring occurs when naming is done with deep consciousness. We honor the person or entity being named and we are honored. Life doesn't get more holy than this for me.

I named aloud the trees and now realize the trees allowed me to share in the sacred, the gift of keeping things alive through sound, experience and name. This is a shift I want to embody and embrace.

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 12 October 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

A Boot Camp Reflection - Who's Watching You?

2011-10-10T16:02:00.010-05:00

During Monday morning's boot camp, our instructor shared how sometimes in sessions with clients at the gym, he'll notice a non-paying person observing, trying to sneak peeks of what he's teaching an individual. We laughed about this as folks referenced similar scenes in sitcoms and movies.

Class continued as we Bill-boed (Bill's version of tae-bo) our way through a series of moves that made me laugh inside. In the Parthenon's glass doors, I saw my own reflection as I pushed to do side kicks on gradually weakening legs. Although I persisted, it was hard to maintain form. By Bill-bo's conclusion, I only hoped no one was sneaking a peek, wanting to emulate me.

Class ended yet Bill's story of being watched while instructing others stayed with me. How often are others watching us and we are unaware? Children especially watch and model parents, siblings and those around them.

I found myself wondering if hidden in this simple story was a bigger clue as to the seeming unraveling of integrity, honesty and joy in living, from political scandals and the home mortgage meltdown to the alarming rate at which anti-depressants and pain killers are prescribed? Is this simple story connected to what happens to politicians who feel called to public service then once elected or while campaigning they watch how things are done, the selling out to lobbyists for votes and making promises to others for gain on the outside that goes against the grain of their insides? Is this simple story connected to how corners are cut, white lies are told and manipulations occur as happened in the mortgage and banking industries?

To bring this home personally I wondered if someone were watching me what might they see? Of what am I a model? I wish I could say I'm a personal trainer for living and loving all out but much of the time I'm a model for mediocrity. I'm unknowingly lulled into thinking life's routine forgetting every moment is new and every breath a gift, that life is a gem polished in life's gym through exercises in loving, feeling, risking, losing, laughing, crying, being and doing.

If others are watching you, what do they see? What qualities do you model in the way you live and be? Imagine living the Shift you'd like to see in the world!

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 12 October 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

* Nashville readers: I the walker and non-exerciser highly recommend Bill Crutchfield's "Crutch Camp" at this site www.crutchcamp.com
Classes are mornings on MWF at 6, 8:30 and 9:30 at the Parthenon, an amazing place to get your day started with a fun, focused group. Bill will push you and you'll enjoy it. How strange does that sound? Three weeks in and so far this is true. Bill's routines are just like life, filled with change and never the same.

On Filling, Feeling and Being Fed (Inspired by an Art Binge and a Bird Stuck in Our Feeder)

2011-10-06T12:29:00.004-05:00

(A couple of years ago, I awoke one morning hearing: Teach people to feed themselves. I found this strange, yet as time’s passed and encounters have fed me, I find that message not so odd after all. Here’s what happened recently in the form of a story that will continue to take form.)

This weekend while sitting outside I looked up and noticed a tiny bird, a sparrow I suspected, at the feeder eating. Other birds would come and go yet this one remained.

I watched. It stayed. Something was different as to its position. I neared not wanting to cause alarm and realized it had pushed just a bit too far into the feeder and was stuck. I found a pair of gloves and opened the lid. A little eye looked up at me. With one finger I gave its little bird head a nudge. The bird flew away and I realized how it had gotten stuck.

What little seed remained had been pushed away from the front toward the back of the feeder’s opening. The bird was just trying to reach the food. I filled the feeder then from my chair watched birds crowd around like people lined up at troughs, breakfast lunch and dinner bars, across America. I wonder if folks who frequent food bars have a deep awareness for the specifics of what they're eating and the behavior in which they’re engaged or are they on some deeper level like the sparrow just trying to get fed, fearing food will go away.

I then promptly went on a binge myself starting at the Belcourt with a Noon movie about Yves St. Laurent. Although I'm not a fashionista, I was quickly taken with this man's creative genius, the bond between him and his business and life partner and the art they collected over 20 years. I fed on beauty and creativity through film.

Then I went to Watkins to see "Handmade and Bound" (on view through Oct. at Metro Center) an exhibit of handmade books, discovered zines which I didn't know existed and bookmakers, men and women making new books from the covers of old books and repurposed leather. One young woman made books with etched wooden covers while another made miniature book necklaces. I fed on creativity while discovering the new and the old becoming new.

Then I ventured downtown to the Symphony Hall for chamber music, trombones, the youth symphony, and Nashville in Harmony before walking to Fifth Avenue to revisit paintings and photos from the night prior. I fed on bites of sound and color.

By the time I returned home nearly 12 hours later I wondered if he hand of the Muse should have pushed my head from the trough, from the feeder of creativity a little sooner.

I wasn’t numb nor like folks after holiday meals who complain of having over eaten but I did wonder: What just happened as I fed and fed and fed? Did I need Art AA?

I reminded myself not just of those at food bars, but of people who shop and shop then have to rent storage units to store their stuff. I’m not a shopper or a big eater. I collect experience yet if I'm not fully engaged in the experiences I'm having I’m no different from many lined up at food bars or renting storage units - buying, eating and stuffing my body as a bin.

The phrase ‘History repeats itself’ is attributed in various forms to different people. I know personally I’ve judge how we collectively repeat history on the big plane, different players, similar story lines of unconsciousness, greed and the haves versus the have-nots, trying to control and reacting in fear. Yet if in my personal script I’m going through the motions and not fully taking in life’s moments then I’m like the sparrow eating from life’s feeder afraid seeds of experience are running out.

As I’ve reflected on that day, I’ve remembered my heart opened by a movie as well as the sense of home I felt seeing the French countryside. My insides were moved hearing trombone players fill a room with sounds evoking rich dark chocolate and old growth redwood forests. I was inspired and held hope hearing “One by One” a Zulu song sung by Nashville’s only GLBT choir as well as the young musicians making up Metro’s Youth Symphony. And I was physically drawn to a painting by Tony Breuer titled “A Crack in Earth: New Openings” of ghost horses emerging from blacks and blues to oranges and yellows.

In memory I was re-fed the beauty of creativity through music, voice, color, story and texture.

Learning about being fed has taken time, awareness and curiosity. I suspect I arrived here like most kids with the knowledge of how it is to feel and fill. I was nourished while playing in the woods and being out doors, while creating or sitting in the floor of the small elementary school library repeatedly reading books of poetry referencing nature.

Then I neglected the feeding and feeling of my insides partially because it was too painful to tend within. Gradually I forgot how and in turn forgot this Self.

Self-Feeding 101 wasn’t offered in school. School involved learning from the external, the teacher, not ones’ insides or an inner authority. (Having been a teacher for two years in what seems like another lifetime, I’m embarrassed to admit I didn’t teach students to think for themselves.)

Forgetting how to listen within I didn’t realize I was hungry or reaching for something like the bird at the feeder. Actually I forgot life was a feeder from which to feed. I didn’t know I was remembering how to fill and feel until it was happening. I began to listen, to recognize energy in my body, moving energy responding to the external playing upon my senses. I began to let myself feel, to cry with joy and sorrow when moved by music or a moment. I began to listen to the sensations evoked by smelling rosemary growing by the door, noticing the sun’s path across the sky, hearing the wren before daybreak and at dusk, stopping to watch the tiny owl that perched outside my window just after 5:00 every afternoon as winter arrived one year. I learned to be fed, to fill and feel, by paying attention to my inner experience as teacher.

Having been asleep through so much of my life, I suspect on Saturday I gobbled up art-related experiences while making up for lost time. That’s not necessarily bad.

What I’m certain of for now is in this season of harvest, there is a parallel creative harvest of which to partake. How profoundly beautiful is that? Earth is an artist as are people teaching us how to be filled and feel, acquainting us with our insides, with the soul and what deeply satisfies. What I am certain of for now is as long as I’m awake within, life’s feeder will never run out of experience. (You can feast on experience too by clicking on links above for info on music, art and more.)

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 6 October 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

From an August Hike -The Leaf

2011-10-04T09:09:00.004-05:00

In summer's heat, this sole leaf lay on the trail at my feet.
A pioneer showing the way for those to come.
"This is how it's done. Let go. Leave home."

Leaves are astronauts in reverse, adventurers from trees, floating down to experience and explore Earth.

I've read that human astronauts in space look back on this floating orb and feel deep awe for their Earth home.

Does the leaf likewise look to branches so far removed and feel a similar appreciation for its once home?

This sole leaf lay on the trail at my feet.
The soil on which I hiked that day would soon become its universe.

How might our lives change if we realized this universe at our feet?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 4 October 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Journey of the Moon Flower

2011-10-01T10:02:00.016-05:00

I've been watching these two moon flower blossoms for a couple of weeks as they pass through various stages.

Two months ago in the dry July heat, I planted seeds. Squirrels managed to eat every sprout that pushed itself through the soil but this one. One seed survived squirrels, drought and my negligence in watering to climb its way up through the clematis on our deck and the next thing I knew there were two blossoms.

One evening this week as I tried to stay on task before company arrived, I looked out the window and realized the beautiful spiral blossom had opened revealing the moon flower in its glory. I smiled, headed upstairs to prepare our guest's room then stopped. I turned around, went to the deck, pulled up a chair and sat face to face before this divine gift.

I sat that evening off and on for over an hour exchanging something palpable, experiencing what I call an I-can-die-now moment. I hadn’t been wanting to die, but it would be okay if I did, not because I’ve just accomplished some lifelong goal or feat, but because I experienced such deep satisfaction in the quiet wonder and presence of Nature. For me, life doesn’t get any better than this.

I thought of the scientists at CERN who had just revealed neutrinos may travel fast than the speed of light. My experience will not make their radar or the news but I sensed something traveling, something palpable in the space of three feet between the moon flower and me.

Rather than rush to prepare room for company, I opened a room within for the company of the moon flower. I’ve continued to savor this divine experience as it now enfolds a day later into a tightly cupped miracle which I imagine holds my energy as I hold it.

I imagine my energy trekking through its green veins down into the dark soil infusing Earth with my love while I likewise trek through my day, sharing the light of the moon flower with all I meet.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 1 October 2011

Messengers - Spider & Tree

2011-09-28T09:19:00.006-05:00

One recent morning as I sat on the deck a tiny spider on a single thread came dangling down from above in front of my face then softly landed in my lap. At first I sat there thinking, 'Did that really just happen?' It was as if God or someone above in slow motion reeled this tiniest of creatures down right in front of me.

The spider didn't move. I gently picked it up to discover it was dead making this occurrence even more curious.

I immediately remembered a dead spider I recently found inside. As I picked that one up and placed it in my hand, its legs broke away from its body. In my palm, these little stick-like legs were lines, lines that I immediately recognized as symbols and letters. I recorded this impression and later read that to many the spider was considered the teacher of language and the magic of writing.

I was reminded of an experience while hiking last month in the mountains. I glanced down and and saw letters on the trail, sticks that looked like hieroglyphs

This recent morning sitting on my deck the tiny spider in my hand I thought, 'What if spider really did invent writing? Maybe she had help from tree.'

The world speaks and has since the beginning of time. Nature, the animals and plants are constantly communicating. We are surrounded by messengers.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 28 September 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Apple Butter - Shared Fruit & Energy

2011-09-27T09:27:00.019-05:00

What do you get when ten lbs of Mr. Bohannon's apples meet up with
the neighbors recent purchase?

Making apple butter was not on my agenda this weekend, yet being prone to spontaneity and finally stopping at a neighbor's apple stand led to doing just that.

We've passed the sign reading: "Apples for Sale" numerous times but only this weekend did I hear myself saying, "Stop."

Jerry's accustomed to this whether I'm wanting to take an impromptu photo or remove a dead animal from the road.

We pulled over and I asked the gentleman, I came to learn was Mr. Bohannon, if his apples were good for making apple butter. With a quiet authority he said, "Come here" and led me to a long makeshift plywood table. He took a laminated sheet of paper and with a finger traced down the page to the three types of apples he grew. Then he read aloud whether his apples were suitable to be baked, buttered or sauced.

I asked for a half bucket to which Mr. Bohannon promptly commanded, "If you're making apple butter, don't waste your time on a half bucket. You need a whole."

For only five extra dollars, we drove away with at least fifty apples and I drove away remembering my love of rural folk, people often judged for their simple ways.

We got home and the apples went to another room as I thought, 'What have I done?' The last and only time I made apple butter, I stood in the kitchen for a half day peeling apples only to end up with four jars of butter, the last of which just got opened, and numb hands from the repetitive motion. I debated giving the apples away, freezing a few or parceling them out to the deer and raccoons on weekends I'm in the country.

My desire was further dampened when I went on-line to look at recipes. This was more than overwhelming and even more disconcerting since I didn't have the peeler, crock pot or food mill recommended.

Somewhere in trying to decide what to do I called the neighbors across the street for the name of the local market and shared my kitchen venture. That's when Jonna shared she had just bought a peeler. What synchronicity!

I rail about aspects of the industrial revolution and how machinery despite its benefiting me has contributed to our cultural disconnect from nature which at times seems to be a chasm more than a disconnect.

In contrast I was amazed and grateful for this machine that allowed me to peel, core and slice 32 apples in under thirty minutes. For fun I even timed myself and processed three apples in one minute. This may sound strange or just more evidence of my simpleness but I truly held wonder for every nut, bolt, spring, blade, cog and piece of metal that went into this machines creation and I was grateful for the minds that created these simple parts that became part of a greater whole.

Thirty-two apples reminiscent of Japanese lanterns went into the pot. Combined with spices, sugar and apple juice, they cooked for half the day before being poured into jars and canned.

Creating in the kitchen, feeds my soul when the handmade is heart made. I wondered if my grandmothers ever felt similarly or did they toil in the kitchen solely to survive. I wondered if the men (or women) who invented and made the apple peeler put their heart, not just their minds, into the making of this great little device.

Mr. Bohannon's apples and my neighbor's peeler led to much more than apple butter for me. I shared in the fruits of ideas creating inventions, fruits of the seed of shared energy between Earth, sun, rain and tree, neighbors and me and now thanks to the internet with you.

And I glimpsed how just as the apple peeler is made of parts creating a greater whole, we too, rural and urban, east and west, north and south, red and yellow, black and white, we all are part of a greater whole which is enriched and strengthened when the parts are appreciated.

-Dawn,The Good News Muse 27 Sept. 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Girl As God - The Truth (pt. 2)

2011-09-23T14:10:00.003-05:00

Monday’s Musing “The Little Girl as God” didn’t feel complete, yet I didn’t know why. Rereading it I realize I was less than honest.

‘Isn’t that called dishonest?’ an inside voice asks.

I was dishonest for two reasons.

Several months ago an acquaintance sent me an email containing a piece she had written. The further I read the more I realized her piece was about me. She suggested my stories were all about me and that instead of trying to “save the world” I should get some friends and learn to listen.

Since I listen for a living, write on the side and take after my father who contrary to his outgoing appearance often said he wished to live deep in the woods, I seriously considered the potential for truth in her comments. I recounted my week and realized I had been listening that week, to three different friends in distress.

Still I was stunned and panicked. Were my stories about me? I read a few and was mortified. She was right. They were. I scanned stories by other writers, strangers and friends, and realized their stories were all about them.

Once my heart stopped racing and shame stepped slightly away, I realized that’s what stories are. I’m not well read but I do suspect even fictional characters in varying degrees represent parts of their author’s insides. So of course it’s about me. That’s who I am.

Then there was the part about being accused of wanting to save the world. It might be hard for this person to believe, but everything I write has more to do with saving me. I don’t intentionally set out to weave the world into my stories. It just happens as I’m waking up after having episodically been asleep, ignorant and ignoring nearly four decades out of my 52 years.

So what does this have to do with the little girl at the church?

I cut that story short and was dishonest because I thought, ‘Here I go again. It’s all about me’ and I was embarrassed to write the truth.

I wrote “The girl walked away with her family” then went on to write that the girl was like the Creator or the energy behind the Big Bang saying, “Look what I made.” I still believe that’s part of the story, a significant part. I’ve walked away from my resonance with Nature and am just finding my way back.

But the full truth is I was the one that walked away. I turned and walked away from her outside the church of my childhood last Sunday morning.

I exuberantly heard myself telling her that her handmade, paper and plastic creation representing Nature was a work of art; that she’s a work of art and Earth’s a work of art.

I heard these deep truths coming out of me to this child I didn’t know. Then I promptly stood up, looked at one of the women with her, said “I like your necklace” and then I walked away.

Excuse me. I like your necklace?

What was up with that??

I did like her metal necklace made of flowers. Yet what was up was my discomfort. I was uncomfortable with the exuberance I heard bubbling out of me as I knelt eye level to this child who excitedly said, “See what I made!”

I was uncomfortable because I didn’t want to be judged as that woman who gets excited and acts like a child.

You may know “what’s up” with that. I don’t think I’m the only one who absorbed the messages permeating society’s ethers: “Grow up.” “Stop acting childish” “Act your age.”

I walked away last Sunday from that child as I had walked away from the real me, the me that girl represented from my own childhood. And I walked away from the exuberance of being seen and sharing.

That little girl represented the me from decades ago. My detaching and walking away from her is what prompted my move to the anesthetized state I’ve episodically been a resident in much of my adult life.

Please bear with me here. This is where at least for me writing gets tricky. I want to offer what I awoke this morning thinking. It’s about you (or it may not be) and yes, here’s where saving the world comes in too…..

I awoke this morning with one thought in my mind. My walking away last Sunday mirrors what we as a whole have collectively done over eons in relation to children and the Earth.

Whereas the male Aborigines went on Walk Abouts, it seems modern man is prone to Walk Aways. I suspect we unknowingly participate in that walk away when we censor rather than question, resist tears of compassion rather than open to sadness, ignore the embers of passion rather than risk rejection, react in anger rather than hold a wide angle and maintain silence and control when our insides exude excitement.

I could go on, but I don’t want to preach. I just want to share the gift the girl shared with me.

And I believe it's not too late.

May we all start turning toward and embracing the parts of ourselves we’ve ignored. May we fully see all children with their offerings of “Look what I’ve made” and share these precious moments in the beautiful world with them.

At least for now, that’s how I’m saved.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 23 September 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Electrifying Times

2011-09-22T10:05:00.010-05:00

(This Musing was inspired today by a postcard I came across from attending an exhibit in May at Nashville's downtown library.)

“Electrifying Times: How Power Transformed Our City” the postcard read. The library was hosting an exhibit of materials highlighting the bringing of electricity to Nashville decades ago. I went.

Photos and documents lined the walls. Prior ads read:

“Order your electric range now. Get $20 for your old stove.”

“Our electric appliances are labor and time savers. Let them serve your home.”

People were suddenly served from cable cars to vacuum cleaners, and oh, the lights, lights, lights. The power of electricity transformed lives.

I wasn’t alive then and I know the Great Depression was dark and maybe it’s just me, but it seems like electricity arrived, people got lights and the times got darker at least in some ways.

Did sex trafficking, hunger and homelessness exist sixty years ago to the extent they do today?

Can it be the lighter our loads, the lighter our lives, the darker the times?

I want to receive a postcard that reads: “How Power Transforms Lives” – not the power running through electric wires, but the power of the heart, the current of love.

That’s the exhibit I want to attend the one with ads that read: “Expand your heart’s range now. Give $20” and “Let love serve your home.”

Then I realize I am that exhibit and these times are grace. The power of electricity brings the needs of the world to my home, to my heart's door. The power of love allows these needs a place inside. What once would have been a heavy load is light. What once was dark is bright.

At least for today, gratitude runs through my power lines, gratitude for dark times, revealing quiet currents of love.

Dark times reveal love's currents. Dark times help turn on the light.

We are each exhibits to the power of love walking in the world. I'll be pondering the possibilities in this power for some time.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 22 September 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Harp Strings, Heart Strings

2011-09-21T11:48:00.019-05:00

In times past, I would be one to see a spider web collecting leaves outside the window and determine to grab the broom and dismantle the spider's construction. I now consider that odd and rude. Who do I think I am to destroy spider's home and grocery, especially when it's not even in my home?

This morning my desire is to appreciate its intricacy and beauty. My desire is to listen.

I'm reminded of the web through which we're connected, the internet web through which we're sharing this moment now, but more importantly the energetic, invisible threads shared by all living things.

I go outside to get a closer look at the leaf ballet suspended mid-air. We are leaves manifest from the Tree.

I stay outside to continue to look. The barely visible threads remind me of Spirit and harp strings woven between heaven and earth.

I see our bodies, earthen energy, held by Spirit's heart strings
suspended in the between, alive in the unseen field of energy.

I hear what I chose to not destroy, instructs me. Nature reveals how things work.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 22 Sept. 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Little Girl As God - A Homecoming Story

2011-09-19T10:15:00.009-05:00

Yesterday as I left the homecoming service at the church of my childhood, a little girl came up to me and enthusiastically said, "Look what I made." This wee one, not much over knee high, held up something that I knelt to her level to see.

Covered in a loose plastic sleeve on a sheet of lilac paper were a small plastic frog and tiny fish, a star, a shell and several fall colored leaves. I read aloud the Bible verse at the top: "God saw all that he made and it was good" then I named every item on the paper with such pleasure.

The former teacher in me realized later I should have invited her to name the things in her collage. Yet as one who loves Nature, I was just about as excited as she with her creation. This was the kind of thing I loved as a child. I still feel excitement recalling the tiny planter I made at Easter from an egg shell in which chic weed was planted.. as well as my hand print pressed into plaster in an aluminum pie plate my mother kept hanging above her ironing board for decades.

As I knelt in front of this child I heard myself exclaim, "This is a work of art. Earth is a work of art. You're a work of art." With each statement I grew more excited.

The girl walked away with her family as I felt the gift I had been given. This child allowing or commanding that I see her art reminded me of the child I was and still am. She allowed both of us to experience the heart and art of appreciation.

I wonder how many folks realize what a beautiful work of art Earth and our bodies really are? The beauty to which I'm referring isn't the outer kind but the work of great beauty of cells, blood, breath, lymph and organs working in unison, imbued with consciousness. And likewise all around we've trees, bees and birds, rain and rivers, soil and sun, from bacteria to buzzards all working together on this beautiful planet Earth.

I wonder if God's a child like this happy little girl or at least has her attitude wanting to show and share creation with us. What might shift if we pressed pause for a moment on all our images and deeply held beliefs about creation from the Caucasian, gray bearded elder man God to the Big Bang? What might happen if we could for a moment in that pause, ask ourselves, "What have I done and what am I doing to this home that is body and Earth?"

My intent isn't judge, blame or shame, but to curiously consider how it is that we treat our bodies and Earth.

I wonder at times if whomever or whatever is behind Creation doesn't think: "I should have stopped after that fifth day" or "I knew I forgot something" as he or she holds the switch intended to stop evolution just before humans arrived on the scene.

Personally I could do much better. My pattern of self-care is black and white. I'm either eating healthily, walking daily and living gratefully or I'm on auto-pilot just getting things checked off the list, moving through my day like I'm a machine.

Thanks to the encounter with the little God girl, I pause to imagine a Creator running up to me exclaiming, "Look what I made!"

I want to live from the place I was in yesterday. I want to enthusiastically respond: "Wow! I love it. This is a work of art."

A day later and miles away, I now think, 'There's homecoming every day on Earth whether I'm aware of it or not as creation shares, ripples flow from the appreciative heart and I've the opportunity to come home to who I really am.

What brings you home to you?

-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 19 September 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

A Woman on the Run Finds a Divine Light

2011-09-16T15:24:00.010-05:00

Last week I grabbed my keys at the last minute and dashed to the Frist Center for the opening talk on two new exhibits, "A Divine Light" and "Woman on the Run" I felt like a woman on the run as I hurriedly left home wearing a t-shirt and pair of tights with a significant hole front and center in one leg.

I later read that Tracey Snelling's installation, Woman on the Run, suggests "a keen sensitivity to the tensions hidden in narratives of ordinary life." Within minutes of walking into the Frist auditorium, I definitely felt a keen sensitivity to a very present tension created by the fact that I had worn my ordinary yard work and walking clothes to the opening talk specifically for museum members. Now I'm a Frist member but if I had realized this was a member event I would have delayed the tension related to the fear of attracting critiquing glances. I would have not shown up.

After the talk, I ventured upstairs in the short time I had, not expecting to linger over Northern Renaissance paintings from Bob Jones University but curious as to the title "A Divine Light." Truth be told, this woman on the run must confess, I've never been drawn to religious art and thought a sampling of the works might suffice.

Surprisingly I found myself drawn to a glass case at the exhibits entrance. The sensation of feeling pulled toward art wasn't new, but it was surprising since the objects of my attraction were binders, brushes and colorants.

Yes, I found myself unable to take my eyes off an egg, flax seed, feathers, walnuts, minerals, bones, roots and a glass vessel of oil. These gifts of nature were samples of ingredients crushed, stirred and alchemically turned into paints hundreds of years ago.

These objects of earth found in my kitchen and yard cast a spell on me. There I stood intending to rush through the exhibit and I couldn't walk away from an egg. To ease the awkwardness of feeling unable to move, I asked nearby patron's questions and kept standing, paying attention internally to this unexpected experience and sensation.

I felt such awe in relation to nature and the process of teamwork involved hundreds of years ago as each artist had multiple assistants to help make paint and produce a work. These simple supplies were the source for these master paintings that I later discovered do exude light.

Nature as source. How beautiful that gifts of nature feed our bodies and our souls.

Then my mind made a strange but perfect turn. Standing before these simple objects, I came upon what I consider two missing aspects in the environmental debate. I've often thought it curious that people get locked into polarized positions debating whether global warming is or isn't occurring and what role if any we humans play.

Standing in the Frist, I viscerally felt one facet of the role we're built to play, a vital activity in which we're here to engage the experience of reverence and awe as to the divine light in everything and our relatedness with Nature. Imagine the shift in our world if like the artist's teams of old, we momentarily stopped our debating and agreed about one thing as participants for Team Earth. Imagine if regardless of zip codes, status and dress, we all started feeling appreciation for Earth.

I had a musical commitment to keep, but I parted the Frist thinking we're here to be grateful, to realize the energetic binder tucked in our bodies, hearts and minds, the vibration of appreciation for living on this abundant Earth.

How often I forget to hold in awe Earth's capacity to freely give with no demand for return. Nature divinely mothers us in the masterful painting that is life on Earth.

An hour later the "narrative of my ordinary life" found me listening to Tim Grimm & The Hay Wagon Gypsies at East Nashville's Family Wash. The hook in the final song I heard that evening was the perfect book end to how my evening began. A young woman playing mandolin sang: "We are holy."

I sat there in holey tights knowing we are holy. We are master paintings brought to life by light, by the energy in the very foods of which the holy works at the Frist were made. We are holy works in the masterful painting that is life on Earth.

Awe, yes. I can imagine that!

-Dawn Kirk, The Good News Muse, 16 September 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

* The Frist Center is open 7 days a week. Hours vary. Click Frist Center for info and hours. Both exhibits above are on display until early February. Opening also Oct. 7th is "To Live Forever: Egyptian Treasures from the Brooklyn Museum" and Maria Magdelena Campos-Pons: Journeys. In the entrance gallery presently, Connecting Cultures: Children's Stories from Across the World, 200 participants from ten of Nashville's cultural organizations created artwork telling their cultural stories.

Moon & Bloom

2011-09-16T13:29:00.005-05:00

Hidden among the heart-shaped leaves on the trellis, I've found unopened moon flower blossoms, blossoms that carry the same energy as the recent full moon overhead. Whether open or closed, waxing or waning both fed by the sun reflect and carry the light.

From above and below, moon and bloom in their continually shifting phases remind me: Savor all phases of life.

Moon flowers open at night and like the moon remind me: Light often shines brightest in the phases seeming darkest.

Imagine. Be fed. Shine. .

-Dawn,The Good News Muse, 16 September 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Nest of We

2011-09-12T16:38:00.008-05:00

(This piece follows the prior piece titled "The Nest" from Saturday, September 10th.)

The nest today reminds me of a container, a bowl from which I’m fed as well as the container that is the body, this flesh nest into which soul drops for a day in time's span.

The angel still stands her hands together in prayer. Her hands are such a contrast juxtaposed to the bowl's openness. Closed hands beseech. Open hands receive. Who invented palms closed in prayer? Isn’t it more fitting they be open to receive?

Open is certainly more vulnerable. What happens when into my bowl nothing comes, when my bowl isn't filled? People all around the world know this. Empty bowls, empty bellies. Death.

What happens when into my bowl lands sorrow and grief? People around the world experience this. Pained bowls in our world often become drugged souls leading too to death.

I use to want to shove my bowl away until I realized this bowl within is fed not just by food but by feel. My soul’s bowl is filled by feeling all that comes its way.

Yet still there are days, I walk around absent, not unlike the drugged, disconnected within.

What is trying to be born in this nest of Me?

Beneath the angel’s praying hands, still sits the nest on Earth, the precious global nest we've been given, this gem of bounty onto which souls tumble to be tumbled.

Empty and open I want to accept the tumbling, yet when my bowl’s pain becomes too much, my own hands beseech. I cling to the rough edges I know, as polishing I resist, forgetting in coming here we make a pact with loss and bliss.

How the tumbling intensified ten years ago as our collective bowl was filled. Into the nest of our innocence arrived sorrow, anger and fear. I question how it is that I write innocence when from our country’s collective nest we have visited war on other countries and on one another in the civil war which was anything but civil? How is it we felt so innocent when our kin killed Natives by the thousands not that long ago here on this same land? Yet the events that day shattered part of the collective perspective that harm of this magnitude could not come to our nest.

Hands clasped in prayer while others turned to fists. Grasping for power and to make our point, soon we went to war for getting revenge, forgetting the power in vulnerability, forgetting the power of opened hands.

Ten years have passed and our nest has been stretched in more ways than we would have previously conceived. Maybe the angels clasp their hands in prayer hoping we’ll still get it and open to receive.

What is trying to be born in this nest of We?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse at Imagine the Shift, 12 September 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Nest - What's Being Born on Earth?

2011-09-10T09:52:00.009-05:00

The stone angel stands, her hands in prayer, over the bird nest I found on a recent morning walk. Empty the nest now sits at her feet in my earth garden.

Empty, the nest reminds me every moment something's born into this world, a soul, a thought, a touch, breath, forgiveness.

Empty, the nest reminds me every moment something parts as well, a soul, a thought, a touch, breath, forgiveness.

Forgiveness? Oh, I hope not, yet it is possible even now in some corner of the world or not that far away forgiveness is being withdrawn prompted by fear and uncertainty.

Emptiness, a product of parting, prerequisite for birth.

What is waiting to be born in this nest that is Earth?

-Dawn, the Good News Muse 10 Sept. 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Freedom Lights the Way

2011-09-09T17:27:00.020-05:00

-Dawn, The Good News Muse - 12 December 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Gauze this Morning

2011-09-09T09:55:00.004-05:00

Gauze this morning holds my heart.
Wrapped in a delicate cocoon.
Wrapped by the hands of the Mother
Bringing solace, comfort and rest.

In the quiet, drum beats of the ancestors
like Morse code message me.

We are not alone.
Those gone before walk among us.
Those yet to come surround their soon to be home.

Watching, waiting, listening, sharing.

Gauze this morning holds the Earth
Wrapped in a delicate cocoon.
Wrapped by the hands of Spirit
Swaddling clothes and shroud
Held in the arms of Love.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 9 September 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

The Stream

2011-09-08T17:45:00.006-05:00

Last weekend prior to the rains arrival, I was reflecting on the July and August drought here in Middle Tennessee. The external often prompts me to consider the internal.

Soil drought. Soul drought.
As within. So without.

I pondered parallels between the hard, dry earth and my own insides. Here's what came.....

Listening for who I really am inside is like seeking an underground stream. Quietly it flows beneath layers of rock. It can't quite be found though I sense it's there deep down inside.

Then when tears suddenly come, I know I've found it or it has found me. The stream within reveals itself in tears without, bubbling up when I ask a loved one to place their hand on my heart before I venture out to meet a significant task. The stream lets itself be seen at times when hearing music or the telling of a story. Then there's the time, the stream flowed in France when I knew I had previously walked French lands. The stream became a river, Memory's water shed.

Support, soil, song, story touch the stream of me.
Support, soil, song, story, stream of love setting me free.

How do you experience the stream that is you? How do you experience free?

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 8 September 2011
dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Simple Thoughts on Economy Inspired by Dog & Dawn

2011-09-08T17:10:00.004-05:00

This week I've started morning walks again, a ritual I neglected with the heat. Within a block I'm aware of the value of this sacred thirty minute span as I greet and am greeted by crepe myrtles declining or reclining as I think of their coming winter's rest.

At one neighbor's home I savored half-dollar size pink morning glories overtaking a flower bed and beginning to climb a tree. A neighbor came out, nodded to me and I continued to converse with the neighboring flowers. At one corner, I stopped and let the sun warm me as I closed my eyes and looked skyward sensing I was being fed.

Yet the encounter close to home made me smile brightest and still does to think of him. Standing at the corner before mine I spied Cuff the black lab who's been in the neighborhood nearly as long as I. Both of us are sprinkled with gray, well me more than him these days.

The enthusiast and lover in me wanted to run up the block and cross the street to Cuff in excitement but paused. What would his owner think?

I significantly picked up my pace and called Cuff's name. His look conveyed a bit of confusion at first. 'Hmmm, she remembers my name?' It's more common in these peri-menopausal days for me to first ask: Now what is your dog's name?

I cheerfully greeted Cuff, who after his initial perplexed pause walked over somewhat stiffly to me, the walk with which I'm familiar some days. We locked eyes; I rubbed his black coat and salt and pepper face and talked tomatoes with his owner. Then we parted ways.

I had been the giver or so I thought. Yet I walked away more full than when I had crossed the street. Before I could ponder how that could be, I quickly realized Cuff had given to me.

How often do I think I'm the giver forgetting I receive.

The cycling of energy, good vibes and love, is a beautiful thing. Givers receiving. Receivers giving. No owing or debting, no interest rates. No foreclosures. I take that back, if there's a foreclosure, it's on my side of the equation because animals are always giving to me. There is no taking back. If there's a sense of owing, it's because a small part of me has been quietly accounting rather than freely giving. It's so simple.

Then just when I think this story's at an end (and maybe it should be), I remember tonight the president, whose hair is now sprinkled like Cuffs, gives his jobs address. Post speech if all goes as usual the air waves will be even more filled with how he's failing.

I know people need jobs to pay the bills, feed their children, pursue their dreams. My intent isn't to diminish the seriousness of joblessness or the longing for security. I get frustrated with the talking heads simplifying complex issues, spinning their version of the facts to suit their side of the debate, influenced by who's paying their salary or in the case of politicians, the lobbyists getting them elected.

They of course would say I'm the simple one not understanding this world in which we live and that's okay. Regardless of what is said post speech and in a thousand tomorrows, I desire my airwaves be more about what's beautiful in my neighborhood and world. I want my airwaves filled with the spinning of shared energy and experience, inspired by crepe myrtles, morning glories, the sun and Cuff the black lab down the street. This is the economy in which I want to invest. The Bank of Loving Energy.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 8 September 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Grrrrrr - Imagine Earth if Sisters (and Brothers) Refused to Be Contained

2011-09-05T16:26:00.007-05:00

I chose to spend my Labor Day going through files, pitching and tossing the many things onto which I've held. Somewhere midst the piles, I found a folder labeled "My Poetry." In it was a piece related to women growling. Was it an accident that an hour earlier I had been part of a meditation and poetry call, a call I've missed for months now, a call in which growling was referenced?

Yes, as I entered this morning's call, I thought I heard someone refer to growling. I asked just to be sure. I later emailed these faraway but close friends that growling contained the word grow and that maybe we are called as women to "empowered growling."

I then got back to cleaning out files and found the following written at least six years ago, certainly not polished or professional, but I think you'll get the point.

My Mood

(Note to reader: Grrr and Growl are to be read as guttural, really growling sounds)

Grrrrrrr, Guuuuurrrrrr, GGGGGGrrrrooooowwwwllllllll

Some would say I've a bad mood
But I wonder why - why does it have to be labeled 'bad'
When grrrrr is stirring inside?

So I decided one recent morning, not so long ago
To embrace this inner mood
Call it what you may
My morning meditation's food
had seemed to come, to stay.

Candles lit, legs crossed on the sofa
covered in roses, floral and pink
I invited the mood to show herself
to hear what she feels and thinks.

First came the "Umph, you're not ready. Not ready to listen to me."
I sat determined, scowling, "Just you wait and see."

I growled and grumbled,
uttering sounds that didn't make sense.
Then it came tumbling out
Church fathers might say "Repent."

It wasn't that exciting or filled with great suspense
But between the grrr's and the growls, out came a sentence that made sense.

I'm not ready to be nice.
I'm quite tired of nice, in fact.
For just a few moments in my life,
I'd rather not have tact.

Tell me to smile or cheer up
I may throw up instead.
Sometimes a woman just needs
to let go of all in her head.

Now wait! Don't forget the throat and the guts
She needs to stomp, to howl.
Embrace her inner Kali
Lick her chops
Re-member power.

I'm not ready to be nice.
I won't be intentionally rude.
But I can promise one thing.
I'm gonna listen to my moods.

Our moods - they're labeled bad
When they're really not bad at all.
A signal something's off or amiss
A sign I'm not listening in some sense.

We're taught to be true to others and often put self last
But just imagine the world if we turned it, girls, upside down on it's ass.

Ooooppps there I go
It slipped out, a word un-nice

But imagine the Earth if Sisters joined in sweet refrain
And purged our moods, our tears, our fears, bellowing our pain.

Imagine Earth if Sisters refused to be contained.

At times I sit and ponder if some of the un-nice in the world
is sourced in our shadows, tucked away there when just girls.

How many times have we been told, "Smile. Be good. Say please."
When what we need most right now is to get up off our knees.

To take our place
Step into our power and not become like men.
Maybe this is how we all ultimately can win.

The planet desperately needs us, awake, aware, alive
Not sleepwalking, numb and listless, to our power anesthetized.

Of course, I am not saying
We don't need to be more nice
The world needs genuine, loving-kindness
But our un-nice, we must not hide.

I lick my chops
No grrr comes out
Now that wasn't so, so bad.
I thank my Mood, she's part of me
Without her I'd go mad.

..............................................................................

Now that I've found this piece, I suspect I will ponder it further. For now, may we as women and men everywhere become conscious of our inner Grrrr and not take it out on our partners, spouses, children, friends, pets or the stranger in the car who doesn't use his/her turn signal, but instead invite it (the Grrr) to sit and stay, to speak its truth so our shadows may be owned and not projected on to those who are different from us politically, economically, racially, religiously and sexually.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 5 September 2011

....who also just learned thanks to Cayelin Castell's Celestial Timings that today's a good day for cleaning out one's files and organizing. So back to the files.

Imagine The Shift

Full Circle

Fur Play

Your Favorite Tree - Win a Brenda Stein Pen

"Touch" & the Mystery of the Divine Feminine

The Nature of the Inner & Outer -A Musing While Browsing Home and Earth's Decor

The Patriarchy, Perimenopause and Me -Mystery and Memory's Black Hole

Light Bringers

The Hand of God & Mystery

Divine Messges in Nature

The Call of Cranes and Colquitt

Thoughts on Light and Flight

Dust to Dust - On Dancing with Sunlight and Dust

Son's of Earth

Sun - The Faithful Gardener On Earth's Perihelion

May Separation Cease - Inspired by Gardens and the Homeless

When Water and Light Meet

Message from the Universe - Pt. 2

Transplanting Light - Solstice Contest Winner

Welcome the Night

"Welcome the Night" - I thought this message was meant for me as I heard it and the sun set.

I had settled in, made an early fire and was ready for Solstice. Then I remembered the garlic! I bought three heads of garlic from Burgess Falls Nursery that I intended to plant on Solstice. I had prepared the spot a month ago.

I awaited this day and I forgot.

So after dark fell and before the second fire was built, eighteen cloves of garlic went into dark Mother Earth and I realized they do 'welcome the night.' Seeds and bulbs welcome the night with ease.

Over 6-7 months magic will be worked and come July these single souls will have multiplied. This is the magic I want to manifest in life....multiplying love and delicious goodness regardless of day or night.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 21 December 2011

dawn @imaginetheshift.com

Bookends

Water in the gutter drips. 1-2, 1-2 Keeping time Marking time In the background crickets hum, unusual for this time of year.

Time. Sound.

In time before time, Creation began with vibration, sound. I wonder what is being born on the vibration of cricket sound tonight.

This is the perfect way to near Solstice time. I didn't know it until this moment sitting outside near midnight under a dome of cloud sky, serenaded by the insect world with my gutters keeping time.

The next morning.....

I awoke early to sit in the dark and watch the sun rise. It was hidden by clouds. I went to work out and there the sun was shining in the faces of those with whom I share this ritual.

I imagine the shift of seeing the Sun in all things.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 21 December 2011

The Cardinal Connection

This morning I open my journal to write and find a note about the first cardinal of the day, one I had forgotten. I had noted being awakened yesterday morning by the call of a cardinal before daybreak.

Memories and synchronicities like this cannot be bought with money.

-Dawn, The Good News Muse 21 December 2011

The Mystery of Love Unfolding All Around Us

Light Returns - Solstice Contest

The Global Heart in the "Coming Back" Place

Inside Out - Thoughts on Change Amidst Winter Gray

Freedom Lights the Way

A Morning Musing on Weaving from Bill Murray & Me

Of Patterns, Papaw & Patriarchy

The Woman Who Loved Trees & The Tree That Loved Her

Chords of Love Honoring Trees - The International Year of Forests

Happiness is....

The Dream of the Businessman

Goosebumps & Tears - What Informs Your Life?

Why Act My Age When I Can Be Me? What About You?

To What Are You Drawn? We're Writing the Book of The Times

Every Day is Small Business Day - Inspiration from 1907

Reclaiming Touch Thanks to an Owl and Words

ilisten, iconnect, itouch

Green Living Thanksgiving

This Morning's Vision

I Imagine A World Like My Tomatoes

"It's the End of the World as We Know It"

The Body Remembers - A Boot Camp Bit

Increasing My Love Stock - Inspired by Carrots, Wall Street and Jesus

Dippity Do - Inspired by Peppers, Wren and a Handful of Youth

Litely, Loudly - Spirit's Messages

Moon Magic

A Message from the Universe

Earth Is Our Pillow - A Tribute to Soldiers, Earth and the Heart Inspired by the Pillow from My Childhood

Saved by Love Occupying the Heart & Natures Messengers Occupying Earth

Celestial Cyling - We Are Partnered

The Way - An Unexpected Pilgramage

Fire & Light

Flower Power

A Fall Gift

Brought to Life - Brief Thoughts on Joy

Lupine, Foxy and A Work-Out for My Attitude

Sound and Sight Bites - What fills you with wonder?

The Naming of Trees

A Boot Camp Reflection - Who's Watching You?

On Filling, Feeling and Being Fed (Inspired by an Art Binge and a Bird Stuck in Our Feeder)

Water in the gutter drips.
1-2, 1-2
Keeping time
Marking time
In the background crickets hum, unusual for this time of year.

Time.
Sound.

In time before time, Creation began with vibration, sound.
I wonder what is being born on the vibration of cricket sound tonight.