Speaking of Spirit

This past week, our family increase by one beautiful little girl. Unlike when her sister and cousins were born, there was no family around, except her Mom and Dad, of course, to greet her when she entered this world. This didn't seem to bother her at all. She simply got to the tasks at hand, nursing and napping and doing what babies do in the first hours of life. Pictures of our Madeleine crossed cyberspace at record speeds; all of us oohing and aahing at how much she looks like her Mom and how much hair she has. Prayers of thanksgiving rose from various corners - for our new child as well as her safe and simple delivery. Madeleine and Mommy are both at home, now. I plan on going to see them in a few weeks. In the meantime, the birth of grandchild #12 has me contemplating children as a whole. Childhood today is so different from what I experienced over 60 years ago. Today, in a world still battling a virus that has take so many lives, childhood is wrapped in precautions, fear, and ...

  I am delighted today to have as a guest blogger, Michele Sammons . Michele is an inspirational author, spiritual teacher, and highly-attuned guide who works with clients worldwide helping them transform their lives through divine guidance. As an empath and intuitive, Michele’s light-hearted, joyful approach embraces her clients right where they are on their spiritual path and gently guides them to personal clarity and understanding. Michele is passionate about working with Spirit to uplift others while spreading love and joy along the way. Michele's book, " The Little Book of Big Knowing ," was a delight to read. Made up of short yet meaningful meditations, I found that many resonated with what I believe and understand about Spirit, Life, Death and all that exists in between. I highly recommend this book! Without further ado, let us delve into the thoughts that Michele shares so graciously with us today.  You are the Shining Star of Your Own Play   “All the world’s a st...

Once again, waves of hate and fear have hit upon the shores of our country. Once again, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, family and friends are doused with the waters of despair.   We hear people calling from prayer. We hear people calling for justice. Yet, nothing seems to change.  Today, as I listened to our pastor speak of being filled with peace, I wondered just how I, as a woman of pale color, could be filled with peace when my family - blood-related as well as "adopted" - of dark color struggle daily with the knowledge that their children, their spouse, or they themselves may be killed simply for being dark-skinned.   I will be honest.  I am horrified that we as a nation built on "Christian" morals - Thou shalt not kill! - still allow ourselves to find ways to condone the possession of weapons of war.  Let me make this clear - I am not talking about hunting weapons.  Many families still hunt for their food and that should be allowe...

  We are almost mid-April and the sun is warming the earth, springing forth green shoots and bursting with resplendent color. Sitting in the garden the other day, I began to wonder why it was that I longed for the ocean. Perhaps, living three blocks from the beach as a child has something to do with it, or maybe it is that many of the books I enjoy center of being near the sea. No matter the reason, I truly long to walk in the sand, feel the salty breeze kiss my cheeks and dive into the icy cold sea off Maine's coast. The quote above by Sandy Gingras is so true. When I am "at the beach," time has no need for watches. We know the time based on the location of the sun overhead and the distance between the incoming or outgoing tides. We linger, commune, hold rituals and offer words of praise and thanks.  Being at the ocean, for me, is church. I find great healing walking the shore, talking to the Divine. Each time I swim, I am baptized in the knowledge that life can slow do...

  With the  passing of March 20, the Northern Hemisphere melts, quite literally, into the spring season. From what once was frozen and dead, "springs" forth with life. Waters that were frozen run full tilt to the sea. Fields that were black with death, resurrect in shades of green. Skeletal trees and bushes suddenly burgeon with green buds.  The spring observances, rites, and rituals around the world all celebrate this return from the brink of darkness and death to new life. The Vernal Equinox, or First Day of Spring, was for our ancient ancestors a time when the gods and goddesses of fertility and rebirth brought the world back to life.  Many know of Eostre or Ostara, the goddess of spring and of Brigid, Celtic goddess of Fire, Hearth and Home, but few know, unless you happen to come from these parts of the world, of the Slavic god, Jarylo  or Eiar, the goddess of spring from the four seasons' horae of ancient Greece.  Regardless, even those who have no c...

When I saw the quote, "The problem is, everyone is looking for unconditional Love, carrying a bag full of conditions," I gasped. Wow! the truth of that statement wasn't lost on me. From the moment we draw our first breath, we are looking to be loved, to be cherished, to be respected and protected. Some would argue that this is etched into our DNA so deeply that infants who don't find this waiting for them fail to thrive.  Unfortunately, in this imperfect existence, love has been twisted and mangled to the point of almost being unrecognizable. Love is an action we not only associate with people but things. Let's face it, we need a new word for loving things; otherwise, how will we ever grasp the enormity and sanctity of unconditional Love?  "I love my car," is not the same as, "I love you," yet the words we use are identical.  Furthermore, when we add to this humanity's incessant need to control and conditionalize, and you have the unfortuna...

Today, as we observe Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, we were surprised by a call from the grandchildren. They wanted to ask us questions about what it was like to have lived during the same time as the Rev. Dr. King. I'll be honest, it was an emotional conversation for both Roger and me. Our perspectives were completely different since I was, in the 60's, a child in the projects of South Boston and Roger was a preacher's son in the South. Answering the children's questions not only reminded both of us of why we are, who we are today, but also brought us great hope. One of the most poignant questions came from our oldest granddaughter, who asked what we remembered of the day Rev. Dr. King was assassinated. I, very emotionally, told her that I remembered feeling like the Light had gone out in the entire world. However, I was also reminded of my mother telling me that the Light had simply passed to others to finish the work.  As a young activist, I dreamed of seeing what Mart...