Dragonfly

I’m told that your ancestors go back to the mystic mountains of old where there are stories of many a dragons lair teeming with gold. In truth, you’re one of the first creatures to crawl out from the birth waters of Mother Earth. Many years removed from those times not only in size but also in temperament as you witnessed the Bodhi Tree, the Sermon on the Mount, the first singing of the Veda’s. With translucent wings, you fly over a tranquil pond untouched by ripples, as your mind is calm and untroubled by the dance of time and space, going beyond the known world; fluid, poised and powerful as a dancer of ballet.


Either from the gods of old or from the universe as claimed by modernity, His is the method of our forefathers that you lay secret too, where one’s connection to one’s ground of being is one with all there is.

You are the harbinger of change and maturity mining from a deeper well. A red-tailed hawk in your service flies upward to the sky, retrieving a message from the west wind destined for you.

Like a still point, you hover, meditating in your quiet way, for the awareness of an enlighten Heaven and Earth. Then to fly with wings interdependent to the six directions, across land and sea as you give witness to Gaia. Is she doomed for giving life to her less than noble children? Is it time for Shiva’s dance of fire? But alas the destroyer is also the creator, a continuum of divine proportions.For you are the very epitome of change, as you make your way through the very air you call home, onward to time evermore.

copyright2019-9-jc… images by pixabay55

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Road Trip

Dear Friends of WordPress,

You may have noticed that during the last mouth or so I’ve spent less time blogging. Nothing wrong, I just decided to take a road trip, as Jack would call it. And this one took me through out the south to places known and unknown. Who knows the riches in words that will fall from this tree. We’re on the last few miles before calling on home to guide us in.

Thank you for your support, JC

copyright-jc-2019-9

Image courtesy of Pixabay

September

As fields of green grass, cover my feet, I place nine rows of nine candles…surrounding a circle of nine candles not unlike the wheels of a bicycle. Flowers grow from the center, and more grow from the adjacent rows of nine for all paths congregate at the center. And the act of lighting these candles is enough to move the very fabric of the universe and all who conspire in that endeavor… they are sacred to my eyes and in the name of love for all who travel this road.

For many love and mindfulness arrive courtesy of September, the ninth month, the month of Virgo, the virgin queen. She is the month of shine courtesy of Vulcan, the god of fire and the forge. Vulcan may be at fault for the abundance of fire on earth in September… from the hearth to natural disasters such as volcanoes and the fires of industry, but most of all Volcans real work is burning off all the negative aspects of personalities and egos of humankind. We see this when Isis disguised as a maid takes a child into the hearth and holds it to the fire.

One must do diligence in this kind of work. Whether chasing angels in Appalachia, lighting St. Elmo’s fire on the open seas or painting the rainbow, one must be quick as Pan and stealth as Mercury. Still, other jobs require a special lightness to the touch and an understanding of symbols like Om with the silent syllable or Shiva dancing in a circle of flames. Everything points to something else and that is the true magic.   

So I am mindful of the sacred order of things in the cosmos, heaven, and earth. I feel like a thief in the night except I’m leaving more than I came with. Again that is the trick as I am the true jester bringing one to a deeper understanding of themselves by way of the true sorcery at the threshold of silliness which lies dormant within each of us until we wake it up with the keys to our imagination pressed firmly in our hands.

©jc2019-9

song of amergin

In A Dark Wood…Shunngmanitu Thanka

The Lakota say that it is not uncommon
To hear something calling your name
In the stillness of a dark moonless night.
This is ‘shungmanitu thanka‘, the Great Wolf.

One night our pilgrim found himself walking deep in a dark wood; overhead a new moon disguised as its shadow self-juxtaposed to an array of stars, as the sound of spent leaves crushed underfoot sounded in the autumnal air. It seemed as though the wind was guiding him towards an expected destination as he found himself facing Sirius, the Dog Star. At this moment, his vision caught sight of a light moving swiftly in front of him in the shadows of an oak grove. Like a slow waxing moon, a white wolf appeared before his eyes lending a radiant glow to the maze of yellow, red, and green on the forest floor.

In silence, it’s believed
As though shouted
From the highest mountain
That this seer has witnessed
A vision and is in store
For a special kind of teaching.

“Through an open window in a thicket of shrubs, I saw his head turn up toward the dark velvet sky, and howl into the thin air, moving his head from left to right and back again. It was mournful and very moving like he was self-contained in a certain kind of grief reserved for a departed lover. We both sat there at a distance, careful not to startle the other, a meeting of heart and soul… a revival. And on the 3rd day, we took leave of each other, disappearing as suddenly as he came, I walked away embracing a deeper understanding of life, love, and compassion.”

The White Wolf, a native to Tibet is a spiritual presence in the Himalayas. Native Americans call on him as a teacher and pathfinders to unmapped territories of the forest and uncharted areas of the soul. Sirius, the dog star of the constellation Canis Major, home of the ancients, is his symbol, the brightest star in the night sky. Sirius is, in reality, two stars seen as one from its proximity to the Earth. Because of its binary nature, it represents the paradoxical nature of life.

The Pilgrim on his path is like a Lone Wolf, he’s not of a pack, he seeks knowledge for knowledge sake. It is not important to the wolf or the pilgrim if one or a thousand hear his meditations in the night. In his indifference to fame and fortune, only a few may hear his prayers, but as a pebble splash on the surface of a pond, vibrations will echo in these waters until the end of time.

©jc2019-9… Images by Pixabay

Peace In Your Life

“Is there a difference between happiness and inner peace? Yes. Happiness depends on conditions being perceived as positive; inner peace does not.” -Eckhart Tolle

One day not too long ago, a friend of mine, disgruntled about her lot in life said to me and I quote, ‘If I’d only find peace in my life then I know I’d be happy.” I thought about this for a while and suggested that peace and happiness have nothing to do with each other as one is not inclusive of the other.

Peace is being able to sit in the storm of life and be tranquil in the face of adversity or good fortune. This doesn’t mean a lack of feeling, for we are emotional beings, but a certain calmness that emulates from within no matter what colors give expression to each moment. This allows for the faith which goes hand in hand bringing harmony to our existence. And notice it’s not only the tough situations where we need to strive for peace. Joyous occasions can lead to stress and a lack thereof. The storm is the metaphor for life and all its circumstances.

Peace isn’t the absence of challenge in your life. It’s grasping the currents that sail forth out of the darkness of our own thinking thus sailing into calm waters.

©jc2019-9… Images by Pixabay


Mr. Parkinson, Walking Man

Moving in quiet desperation, Keeping an eye on the holy land, A hypothetical destination, Say who is this walking man. -James Taylor

Its been a while since I’ve posted anything about Parkinson’s disease for this blog. Can you beleive it’s been 6 years that I was diagnosed! My page on PD has a complete list of post consecutively written almost as fast as changes were occurring in real time in my life. Thank you for reading those early writings for they make up the heart and soul of this blog. As for as I’m concerned, my personal goal in writing is to always leave the reader with words more positive than when they started reading. For what is life if not to lift us, one and another to all that heaven will allow.

Having PD can result in numerous conditions the body must cope with. Since Parkinson’s is an absence of dopamine in the body and dopamine is used everywhere in the body thus no two shades of the disease are ever totally the same physically and mentally. And symptoms can show up any day or take years to develop.

I became aware of Parkinson’s when my right hand began to shake violently, an effect called tremor. Drugs were’sable to control it. What keeps me occupied at this particular junction is the ability to walk or a lack of it as it was before my body becomes stiff. Now loosening the body is every day, a day-long practice. These exercises are like medicine since my abilities with my legs and feet have seriously been compromised. My feet shuffle along as I balance myself with a cane. It requires constant mindfulness to walk like a normal person, so mindfulness is more than just a Buddhist practice to me, it is the ability to walk. Yes, like what is normal for me.

There is one person I’m especially indebted to who is practically rewriting the book on walking with Parkinson’s and that is my physical therapist. She rocks, Thanks…jc

©jc2019-9… Image by Pixabay

The Artist Soul

Artistic expression in its many forms, be it the painter, the writer and so on to the musician, the actor is an undertaking of reverence toward the soulfulness of human creativity. We create to satisfy a need to explain life and all its wonders to ourselves. And self-expression on the road to creativity is one avenue in which to tell our story of things hidden in broad daylight which will simultaneously expand and unlock its secrets to the advantage of self-knowledge and wisdom.

Indeed this taproot of creativeness can be sublime, hidden within from the masses to bathe in its own truths until one day an epiphany of ideas rush forth and for one brief moment, all seems to make sense in the universe. and as soon as it arrives it dissipates until the next flicker of lucidity.

I often wonder how Vincent felt when the epiphany arrived and it was soon followed by despair and caught up in a free fall of depression.

©jc2019-9… Image courtesy of Pixabay

Ogleo

Ogleo peaked through the crack of his bedroom door. He heard his mother’s door to her bedroom close for the night and the faint click of the light switch turn off. He stepped out into the hall, flashlight in hand and proceeded on his nightly ritual to his father’s great library occasionally shocking himself from the static electricity he caused by his socks rubbing against the recently steamed carpet. Of course, his mother knew where he was going and he knew that she knew. It was all a part of a ritual with the finale coming at 6:30 each morning where she would find him in his fathers leather recliner fast asleep with any number of books lying about him. Continue reading Ogleo

Ode to Joy… cheerful again

The joyful state, the combined results all states of being bringing laughter to the soul, empathy to the heart and compassion to the mind. ‘Joy’ that comes from the mindful observation of nature and how it’s triggered by the slightest of phenomenon.. positive and negative, right and wrong, joy and sadness; for you can’t know one without its other. Such feelings can come from a variety of stimulus. For me, it’s more often than not, music. Music that captivates me and brings me deep within the confines of life, only to lift me to heights unimaginable by the confines of life. Continue reading Ode to Joy… cheerful again

Christmas… A Kinder Word

Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea… on and on… until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the lookout in the bow, the  officers who had the watch; dark ghostly figures in their stations; but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companions of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad had had a kinder word for one another on that day than on any day in the year; and had remembered those he cared for at a distance and had known that they delighted to remember him.   -Charles Dickens- ‘A Christmas Carol’. Continue reading Christmas… A Kinder Word