the dreaming Press.

Samsara.

 

"From the solemn gloom of the temple children run out to sit in the dust, God watches them play and forgets the priest."

"Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it."

"Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf."

~Rabindranath Tagore

I love Tagore, do you? His words have a dark beauty to them, and a depth that my spirit seeks out in others. I'm drawn to deep people, and occasionally the dark and troubled people.  They seem to have more going on upstairs than the ones who flounder about on the surface of things...the surface of their thoughts too.  I suppose I crave the cerebral. Who is your favourite poet, or philosopher? Who's words do you drink in for sustenance?

Lupe is in the next realm.  We'll meet her again someday in one form or another. Meanwhile, Frida has developed gold spots on her chrysalis that are simply breathtaking. Will try to photograph it for you, without disturbing her too much.

Going to make a quinoa and roasted vegetable salad for dinner.  Drinking lots of smartwater, as it tastes as good as any water from the clouds may taste; soft, palatable and not the least bit boring.  I'm aiming at staying hydrated, and it feels good. 

And that is all for today. xo

 

We are all sweetly made of stars ✩✩✩!

Good morning sweet people.  EDIT: Just a quick mention that my link list is being redone.  If you aren't on there it's because I haven't added you back on yet.  I'm so challenged with this stuff.  I tried reorganizing it and lost most of the list.  I've had to go "fishing". LOL! Thanks xo)

 I was just thinking...there is a sweetness in prayer.  The same sweetness resides in celebration, meditation, attention, and love.  This morning is a call to gratitude.  I've spent a weekend in the sun, with loved ones, preparing meals (a prayer in itself), and examining my heart (it's nice to get to know oneself). 

So as I ponder the weeks agenda, I remind myself of this.  That every action is rippling outward to touch the lives of others, and so (with this thoughtfully in mind) I take cautious steps (prioritizing).  Everything I do will be a meditation in sweetness.

As the star factories churn out new and brilliant stars, as 800 billion suns circulate in a galaxy (the Sombrero Galaxy) so large it takes 50 million light years for light to cross it...I will simply exist sweetly. We are all made of stars after all, always have been, always will be.  Hafiz had it right! (My sugar withdrawals are coming through in this post.  Every other word is sweetness or sweetly. LOL!)

Also...I will keep my father (newly retired, yay!!!) in mind (will you, too?), as he enters the operating theater again this week, as his (oh so funny and kind) warrior spirit seeks to battle it out with the invading enemy cancer.  All thoughts and sweetness will be greatly appreciated. xo

One last thing (a little stat for your inner geek), but my husband-to-be explained something to me about the difference between a million, and a billion.  A million seconds is 12 days.  A billion seconds is 32 years.  (800 billion suns, now does that give you some scope to work with regarding that Sombrero Galaxy I mentioned?)

xo Happiest of Mondays to you...and Happy Birthday to Queen Victoria!

She's a lover of figs.

The Jeweled Stairs' Grievance

The jewelled steps are already quite white with dew,

It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings,

And I let down the crystal curtain

And watch the moon through the clear autumn.

~Ezra Pound~

Sheila at age 16; with her beloved dog Jason

My mother.  Sheila Ann, with whom my youngest daughter shares a middle name, is celebrating today.  We celebrate with her.  It is her birthday today.  Born the year Ezra Pound was awarded the first Bollingen prize for poetry, world heavyweight boxer Joe Louis retires, and Eire leaves the British Commonwealth to become the Republic of Ireland.  The de Havilland Comet, the first jet airliner makes its inaugural flight.

I'll leave you then, to guess the year, as we ladies do not discuss the numbers.  For really-they mean nothing.  When I asked her the other day, "How old DO you feel?" She replied, "I still feel 25."

We have not been without our ups and downs.  We still field the odd bump in the road.  But we love each other dearly, and fiercely.  My mother loves figs, pears and dark chocolate.  She is keenly sharp with remembering facts.  (Don't even bother trying to play Jeopardy along with her, she'll beat you hands down every-time.)

She is an avid house re-decorator.  I have a house myself full of all her old things.  We've come to an agreement of late that there is to be no more passing on of items.  I'm chock full.  This is a bit of an inside joke around our place.  :)

Growing up she baked cookies, breads, and more.  It wouldn't be at all unusual to return home after walking the half mile from school to be greeted at the door with the smell of freshly baked goods.  Whenever we acted up she would offer up a hug, a balm to heal whatever sparked our misbehaviour. 

When she lost her own mother in 1997 she would often pick up the phone,-pause, then hang it up.  I would ask her what that was and she would say, "Oh, I just remembered something I wanted to tell Mum." Then she would sit silently, only a tear in her eye.  Gazing out the window, remembering.  You see, like her and her mother before her, we too share a phone call a day.  So that, would be a hard habit to break.

Now while she does have a traditional "stiff upper lip" that the Brits are famous for; she also possesses a very big heart, and an even kinder soul.  She feels the pain of her loved ones so intensely, you'd think she had a direct umbilical cord still attached to that person.  I could tell you stories that would leave you in disbelief, such as a phone call home because she knew my brother had cut himself with a knife.  And he had (by accident of course.)

Her brilliant, technicolour and lucid dreams.  (That is where I get it from.)  Her dream one September 9, 2001 betokened an event so life altering, that on the day of 9-11, I called her in tears saying, "Mum, it was your dream."

So to the woman who introduced me to power walking, reading, Parma Violets, cups of tea, blogging (find my mum here, at Simple Indulgences), photography, painting, shopping for red purses, watching Absolutely Fabulous, dreaming of faraway lands, the romanticism of The Highwayman (which she can recite in it's entirety), the importance of applying excellence to everything you do; I wish you the best, most happiest of birthdays you've ever had.

Happy Birthday Mum.

xoxo

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