The Woman Who Loved Trees & The Tree That Loved Her

I love when an unfinished story finds me at just the right time it seems. After reposting a story from a year ago about connections with the trees I found the one below. Hours later, I discovered why this story found me a year and one day after originally being written.  

December 7, 2010 

After writing about waking up to love thanks 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 extended high in the air with a man inside, I assumed a man working on the lines. As I neared, I panicked for I realized the truck and the man were near my tree, the beautiful tree with the heart in its trunk.


Just yesterday, I stopped at a distance to take in the entire tree, to fully notice 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 limbs nearest the power lines had all been cut. I still don't have the words to fully express what I felt. I was relieved to find the tree still standing, yet pained to see half of it gone. I wondered how it felt.

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

I personally know trees feel. The month before while walking in the woods, I had placed my face to a tree and heard a scream. I knew in an instant that trees 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 tears filled my eyes. Then I sat down and put my arm around the tree as I would for a friend for that is what trees are to me. They were in many ways my first friends. I played among them in the small wooded area behind my childhood home as well as in the woods at my grandmothers 'on the creek.' I loved climbing the silver maple, magnolia and mimosa trees at my other grandmothers. I was held by tree arms whether I was climbing trees or pretending a small cluster on the rock ledge behind our home was my "house" in the woods.

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

My insides were further complicated by the fact that I was sitting six feet from a busy street, cars rushing past this moment of intimacy. The critical voice of my father stirred in the deeps wanting to know what I thought I was doing. He also loved trees and often said he wished he could have been a hermit living in the woods. We had much in common yet he would take a condescending tone with me. Suffice it to say this intimacy thing has been personally challenging whether with 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 prior to the crucifixion out of fear of the consequences. To some this will seem blasphemous, but I thought, 'Am I not betraying the tree and me and denying who I am and it is if I walk past ignoring it out of fear of what others will think?'  I pondered how my ignoring the deeper levels of what this tree means to me is really no different from the men who cut the limbs if they ignore their relationship with trees.

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

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

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

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

December 8, 2011

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

Although I had not intended to walk in the morning's cold, I determined I had to visit this tree.  The heart tree is on my daily walking route.  I most always stop to acknowledge it. Often I 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 been driving past, you would have seen my face beaming for I looked up and saw dozens of little arms reaching out from where the limbs were cut. In the twelve months that have passed, the tree has birthed multiple branches from the side that was shaved. 

I stood on Natchez Trace smiling ear to ear realizing the tree in its wounded places didn’t stop growing. It actually flourished and grew even more.  I had quite possibly been part of this 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 than shutting down.

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

-Dawn! The Good News Muse 9 Dec. 2011

dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Chords of Love Honoring Trees - The International Year of Forests

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....

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

(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?

"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?

"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

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