~ In a world that moves so quickly, I endeavor to offer a place to experience a brief respite, in your daily round. I welcome your comments, and appreciate your visit. ~ Mile buiochas!
~ Siochain De'agus Slainte'!
The Master awaits, chisel in hand. I say,"Okay, I'm ready," and I brace myself for the process. "This will hurt a little, He warns, and it will not be easy. You will often feel discomfort and will want to quit.
But trust Me. I am here the entire way."
At that, He began to chisel.
He is chiseling away what is unnecessary. He is smoothing and adding definition.
"What if you make a mistake?" I ask."How do you put it back on?"
He smiles and whispers to me, "I never make mistakes. I will never need to add pieces either, because the Masterpiece is already within. It is just hidden."
And He continues to chisel away, ever so gently.
It does hurt occasionally, and I catch myself doubting His work when I see certain pieces fall, yet I still trust His skilled hands.
At times throughout the process, I feel all alone and scared, because I can't see Him anymore.
I call out to Him and He comes out from behind me.
"It is okay," He says, " I am here, I was just working from a different angle."
The process is long and sometimes I do want to quit. "Are you almost done?" I ask. " I don't like the uncomfortableness or the pain." " I understand," He replies, "but wait until you see the result.
His eyes sparkle in response.
I am beginning to feel lighter and more alive. He is just smiling and working away.
"Ouch! That was a very painful cut," I exclaimed, with tears in my eyes.
To my surprise, He had tears, too. " Iknow, but it was necessary."
And so the process continued.
I didn't understand all of His approaches or ideas, but I continued to trust.
Finally, He stopped and stood in front of me. I thought it meant He was finished.
" I am not done. This is a life-long process," He said.
"Well, why did You stop?" I asked, actually not minding the break , at all.
With tears rollind down His face, and a look of Love in His eyes, He said, "I just had to stop and admire My Masterpiece. This is truly the greatest one, yet. You will be amazed when I am finished.
This is a Masterpiece."
Then, He wiped away His tears, bent down and picked up His chisel, and carefully resumed His work.
~Beannaichte' 28 July, 2012
~To Pennie Suzanne; I wish you every Happiness and Blessing, on this, your 'Special Day', and always!
~We continue to send out our thoughts and prayers to the Families and Friends of those who were slain, or injured, in Aurora, Colorado. God bless you, and yours. ~Beannaichte'
~Today is the Opening Ceremonies of the 2012 Olympic Games in London, England.
Our good wishes go out to all of the talented athletes, world-wide, who will be competing in the games. After such recent tragedy, this is a time of Celebration and Goodwill, throughout the world. Let it be so... ~Beannaichte'
Youth is not the time of life; it is a state of mind,
it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips, and supple knees;
it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination,
a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness of the deep springs of Life.
Youth means a temperamental predominance of Courage,
over timidity of the appetite, for adventure over the love of ease;
This often exists in a man of sixty more than a boy of twenty,
Nobody grows olde merely by a number of years. We Grow Olde by Deserting our Ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin,
but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the Soul.
Worry, doubt, self-distrust, fear and despair; these bow the heart,
and turn the Spirit back to dust.
Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every being's Heart,
the Love of wonder. The sweet amazement at the stars, and starlike things and thoughts; the undaunted challenge of events, the unfailing childlike appetite for what comes next;
and the Joy of the game of Living.
You are as young as your Faith, as olde as your doubt; as young as your Self-Confidence, as olde as your fear, as young as your Hope, as olde as your despair.
In the central place of your Heart there is a wireless station:
So long as it Receives messages of Beauty, Hope, Cheer,
Courage, and Power, from others, and the Infinite
~So Long Are You Young.
When the wires are all down, and the central places of your Heart
are covered with snows of pessimism, the ice of cynicism, then you are grown olde, indeed. But as long as your aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there is Hope you may die Young at eighty.*
~Samuel Ullman (1840-1924) U.S.A.
~Beannaichte' 24 July, 2012
*I located three slightly different renditions of Mr. Ullman's poem. I am unable to determine the original work, since they are each published as such. If you have any information that would be helpful, please leave me a comment, below. I can be contacted at my Twitter site, also. i.e.,@ beannaichte ~I am blessed to be joined by many talented and caring women and men, on Twitter. Join us!~Thank you!
~Our Thoughts and Prayers continue to go out to the Families and Friends of those who were slain, and the injured, in Aurora, Colorado. May you find Peace and Healing, during this time, and in the days that lay ahead. ~Beannaichte'
I watched my grandma hoe the clay soil in my garden. "Don't see how you grow anything in this,"she mused.
I stared at her in awe, capturing the moment in my memory forever. Wisps of her silvery hair sneaked from beneath her headscarf as her thin torso bent down to pull a fistful of bindweed.
"This stuff will grow anywhere," she laughed. "Even in this soil."
Although she lived alone on the farm she and Grandpa had settled a half century ago, she still maintained a garden that could sustain most of the County. Some of my favourite summer childhood days had been spent in the garden helping her pull up plants she identified as weeds, or planting vegetables and flowers. She had taught me that gardening wasn't only about cultivating plants, it was about cultivating Faith. Each seed planted was proof of that. When I was seven I asked,"Grandma, how do seeds know to grow the roots down and the green part up?"
"Faith," was her answer.
When I grew up and married, my husband recognized the impression Grandma's dirt left under my fingernails and in my heart. He supported my dream to live outside the city, and our two-acre plot had a horse, a dog, cat, rabbit, six hens and, of course, a large garden. I was privileged and overjoyed to have Grandma working in it.
Grandma leaned the hoe next to the fence post and walked to my flower bed to help me plant the daisies she'd brought from her garden to mine. She didn't know I was watching as she patted the dirt around the base of the plant. Waving her hand in the sign of a Cross above it, she whispered, "God bless you, grow." I'd almost forgotten that garden blessing from my youth. Ten years later, those daisies still flourish.
Grandma is tending God's garden now but still influences me daily. Whenever I tuck a seedling into the earth, I trace a small Cross above it in the air and say, "God bless you, grow,"
And in quiet times, I can still hear her blessing, nurturing my faith. "God bless you, grow."
20 July, 2012
~ In Loving Memory of our Mother...
~We Remember...We Remember.
~In Dedication to my Sisters, Sharon & Karen..."God Bless You, Always!"
~Our Thoughts and Prayers are with the Families and Friends of those who were slain, and the many that were injured, in Aurora, Colorado. May each of you find Peace and Healing, during this time, and the days that lay ahead. This is my hope for each of you, and our fractured World... ~Beannaichte'
My Heart is pained, but I recall, This forest, these trees, once so tall; Burning timbers still remain, No more life in wooden veins. Puffing, panting, breathing smoke, I try to breathe, don't want to choke; How I wish I could scream, Just to wake, make this a dream.
My brothers and sisters, are they near, Their future is my greatest fear; For myself, I am not so sad; In this world , so big, so bad. The so-called super powers of late, They've disagreed and sealed our fate; Wait! That sound, I heard a scream, I am awake, it was a dream...
Tears are a river that take you somewhere. Weeping creates a
river around the boat that carries your Soul-Life. Tears lift your boat off the rocks, off dry ground, carrying it down-river to someplace new, someplace better.
There are oceans of Tears women have never cried, for they have been trained to carry mother's and father's secrets, to the grave. A woman's crying has been considered quite dangerous, for it loosens the locks and bolts on the secrets she bears. But in Truth, for the sake of a Woman's Soul, it is better to cry. For women, Tears are the beginning of the initiation into the Scar Clan, that timeless tribe of Women of all colours, all nations, all languages, who down through the ages have lived through a great something, and yet who stood proud...
Being able to say that one has survived is an accomplishment. For many, the power is in the name itself. And yet comes a time in the individuation process when the threat or trauma is significantly past. Then it is time to go on to the next stage after survivorship to healing and thriving.
If we stay as survivors only without moving to thriving, we limit ourselves and cut our energy to ourselves and our power in the world to less than half. One can take so much pride in being a survivor that it becomes a hazard to further creative development. Sometimes people are afraid to continue beyond survivor status, for it is just that-a status, a distinguishing mark, a "damn-straight, bet your buttons, better believe it " accomplishment.
Instead of making survivorship the centerpiece of one's life, it is better to use it as one of many badges, but not the only one. Humans deserve to be dripping in beautiful remembrances, medals, and decorations, for having lived, truly lived and triumphed. Once the threat is past, there is a potential trap in calling ourselves names that have been taken on during the most terrible time of our lives. It creates a mind-set that is potentially limiting. It is not good to base the soul identity solely on the fears and losses and victories of the bad times. While survivorship can make a woman tough as beef jerky, at some point it inhibits new development.
When a woman insists " I am a survivor " over and over again once the usefulness is past, the work ahead is clear. We must loosen the person's clutch on the survivor archetype. Otherwise nothing else can grow. I liken it to a tough little plant that managed- without water, sunlight, nutrients-to send out a brave and ornery little leaf anyway. In spite of it all.
B ut thriving means, now that the bad times are behind, to put ourselves into occasions of the lush, the nutritive, the light, and there to flourish, to thrive with bushy, shaggy, heavy blossoms and leaves. IT IS BETTER TO NAME OURSELVES NAMES THAT CHALLENGE US TO GROW AS FREE CREATURES. THAT IS THRIVING. THAT IS WHAT WAS MEANT FOR US.
~Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.
6 July, 2012
~In Loving Memory of Lloyd... Thank you, for giving me the Freedom, when it was time for me to go. I Remember... I Remember. Always, ~Beannaichte'