“THE 90:10 RULE”

 

Whatever goodness
you are pursuing,
continue.
When you speak
of whatever you are pursuing,
speak of its goodness
so that others are amazed
or enlightened
or calmed
or awakened gently…
rather than speaking only
about the difficulties of it all
so that others become disheartened.
The ratio                  between speaking…

 

Clarissa Pinkola Estes

 

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Full Moon

July 26, 2010

The energy of the moon was in its fullest power last night………….  I find myself alone, it was beautiful holding a ceremonial fire in the darkness.  Very intense, the fire burnt evenly, and quickly, it  felt all consuming and my sense of letting go and releasing very powerful.   Connecting to all my family and friends in that moment, holding a visions of our wonderful planet and a deep knowing that together we can co-create a beautiful future together was magical.

I recited this very powerful poem, its roots are in Sappho, a small shard of a manucsript that remains, inspired Dr Clarissa Pinkole Estes to write the rest, it so powerful and oh so beautiful.

133

ALL THAT IS BURNING FOR LOVE IS HOLY

[The stars are little beauty] fires;

they [glow, but they are just tiny] babies

[next to the splendor of the moon.]

Anyone who is a lover

can see how the moon

in her long gown

shakes a [silver] powder

all around her body,

then sets it afire,

and then how then she [burns]

for her lover

with such a [silver] fire,

all night long,

all night long,

turning first this way

and that in the sky,

spinning ever so slowly

before the eyes that watch her,

loving the eyes that watch her,

turning slowly,

taking all night long

in order to show

— and slowly —

her every treasure.

“Manana” to gringos, is the day after tomorrow, clock time moving inexorably forward.   For us it’s a philosophy, largely misunderstood by westerners, it means, not doing today what will take care of itself tomorrow. Do what needs to be done today and no more. Not one inch more, you can call it the gift of patience. Trusting the implicit order of the universe, even if you cannot understand it at the moment. Never wait for anything, a bus, a train, for the water to boil, choose to enjoy the sun warming your back, the cool rain on your face and then the bus/train comes along.  Enjoy sitting by the warm embers warming you and then the water boils, no sooner, no later. No “waiting” it will make you insane.  I never wait anymore, everything comes to me

Today annihilates yesterday.  The person who went to sleep last night no longer exists.  But we to cling to the idea that we have a personal history, a past, and this is our identity.  We can only ever be what we are in the moment.  When we cross a stream the water rushes past underneath us, when we cross that stream again, it’s not the same stream, it’s not the same water, that has long gone down stream on its journey to the sea.

Don Antonio

The following poem just says it all for me.  It took a long time find the place of acceptance of “what is” in life.  Once tasted I realised the answer to  living with that elusive ” inner peace” was trying to achieve acceptance in all areas of my life and day to day life’s challenges.

Whatever life brings up for us, know that its arisen because we have something to learn from it, learn to see the gifts in all and every situation.

The poem is by RUMI, the famous Sufi poet who died in 1273; he states very clearly just what I am trying to say, he says it far more eloquently than I ever could,

THE GUEST HOUSE

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

RUMI

Oblivious – detail – Carol Gearing


Time is like a river

June 14, 2010

The Stone Child

June 14, 2010

The original abandonment, the original abuse, the original horror has some reason and meaning in it. It is not senseless. It is not like being run down like a dog on the highway. Its meaning most often is the development of tremendous strength, tremendous power, tremendous intuition. And I will tell you frankly that most of the people who are the greatest healers living on the face of this earth are unmothered children. One of the great gifts of the unmothered child – and also the healer, and the writer and the musician and all those in the arts who live so close with their ear against the heartbeat of the archetypal unconscious – one of their strongest aspects is intuition.”

Be proud of your scars. They have everything to do with your strength, and what you’ve endured. They’re a treasure map to the deep self.”

Quotes and story from WARMING THE STONE CHILD by CLARISSA PINKOLA ESTES

THE FOLLOWING STORY IS AN OLD INUIT TALE – Told by Clarissa Pinkola Estes on Audio CD  Warming the Stone child.  I recommend this , you can find it here

There was an orphan that was so lonely and so hungry that no one wanted to be near him.  His mouth was open all the time and his teeth were always showing and tears were always running down from his eyes, and he was so wild with hunger that they had to tie him in the entrance to one of the skin houses so he’d not try to eat the hunters on their way to the seal hunt; that’s how hungry he was.

They would, on occasion, leave him some rancid reindeer meat or maybe some spoiled intestines to eat, but, as we know, it was more than hunger that was gnawing at him.  Those deep needs that not even the person themselves understands.  So everyday he stretched his chain a little bit and a little bit more, until he could get near a stone that was more or less the same size as himself.  You see, his mother and father had died one night, and their bodies had been dragged off by bears, and all that had been left behind by them was this one particular stone.  So he wrapped both his arms and his legs around that rock and he wouldn’t let go of it.  And, of course, his people thought he was crazier than ever, and on their way home from the hunt, with animal carcasses slung over their shoulders, they would jeer at him, and they would say, “Analuk has taken a stone for a wife, ha ha.  It’s good for you to have a wife who is a stone, for then you cannot use your hunger and eat her.”  And they went on their way.

But the boy was so lonely and so hungry that he really had reached the end of his feeling for life.  And even though he had that terrible loneliness and that gnawing hunger, he kept his body wrapped around that stone, and because the stone began to take the heat from his flesh, the boy began to die.  The stone took the heat from his hands, and then it took the heat from his thighs, and it even took the heat from his chin where he rested it on top of the stone.

And just as the boy was living his last breath, the hunters of his village came by again on their way home from the hunt, and again they called him down, and they said, “You crazy boy!  You are nesting with that stone like it is an egg.  We should call you Bird Boy, you good-for-nothing creature.”  And because the boy was near death, his feelings were hurt more than he could ever say, and great icy tears began to roll down his face and across his parka, and his cold, cold tears hit the hot, hot stone with a sizzle and a hiss and a crack, and it broke the stone right in two.

And inside was the most perfect little female the boy could ever want.  “Come,” she said, “I am here now, and you are an orphan no more.”  And she gave him a bow and arrows and a harpoon she had brought with her, and the boy and the girl made their house and had babies.  And, if they are not yet dead, they are in that land where the snow is violet and the night sky is black.  They are there, living still.

Prayer to Persephone

November 18, 2009

Prayer to Persephone

Be to her, Persephone,
All the things I might not be:
Take her head upon your knee.
She that was so proud and wild,
Flippant, arrogant and free,
She that had no need of me,
Is a little lonely child
Lost in Hell,—Persephone,
Take her head upon your knee:
Say to her, “My dear, my dear,
It is not so dreadful here.”

 

Edna St. Vincent Millay