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 "Blue" ©2006 Jo Davidson |
 "Exploring a New World" ©2006 Jo Davidson |
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Today, I braved the elements and walked to the end of the lane from our home. We have been
experiencing a gale for the last 3 days and it looks as if there is no change in site. The west of Ireland
has been getting pummelled by the surf. 55 ft waves coming all the way from Iceland. This life is such
a shift from our suburban life in the NYC area. The sea is such a major part of our daily life. We see it
where ever we look, we smell it, hear it, and then.. we see it again. Ever changing.Ever moving and shifting.
The power of the Atlantic is so huge and forceful. I've watched it reveal fish, and dolphins and mist and fog
and wonder. What a joy.It has permeated my work and vision. Will I be changed forever?e j carr In Guard We Trust You are going to need a whole lot of faith, confidence, and belief in the FDA, the CDC, and MERCK to inject your daughters with the new HPV vaccine Gardasil. Even the prestigious New England Journal of Medicine is questioning its safety and efficacy. I realize I did an article a few a months ago on this subject, but I strongly feel obligated to present you with some of the latest findings since writing for The Villager, especially since pediatricians, internists, and family practitioners are hard selling this to you and attempting to make you feel that you are committing a crime if you refuse to roll up your daughter's sleeve. First of all, the only public studies were entirely funded by the manufacturer. They only tested girls 15 and older. Yet, the FDA approved the vaccine for 9 year olds. They did not assess safety beyond 14 days and half the studies were not published and are unavailable to be read by the public and are not subject to peer review by the medical community. How did this happen? In the February 28th issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association, Dr. Eileen F. Dunne and her colleagues found that 90% of HPV infections clear up on their own. Even more disturbing, the study found that of the HPV infections detected, only 3.4% were of the strains that Gardasil provides protection from. Gardasil has not been tested for long-term safety. If you took the statistics of deaths from cervical cancer since the 1960s in the United States and charted them on a graph, it would look like a plane landing from 30,000 feet thanks to regular Pap tests. If you are lucky, Gardasil will prevent infection of only four of the hundred strains of HPV-that is if it does not kill or paralyze you first. Since my last article over 1,637 reports of adverse reactions have been reported. Through the Freedom of Information Act, a group called Judicial Watch obtained these reports: three girls died and other adverse reactions were seizures, miscarriages and Guillain-Barre syndrome which induces paralysis. Merck still plans to earn three billion dollars a year if they can sell this snake oil to the public. Hopefully some real scientists will intervene. One last thought, instead of going after a disease that is already statistically becoming non-existent, why don't they develop a vaccine for a real disease-like AIDS? Copyright Dr. Jerome Greenberg. Dr Greenberg practices chiropractic and clinical nutrition in Manhattan and Upper Nyack  
Photographed by John Wilson copyright sedonia cahill I invite you to enter for a moment into Sacred Time and Space, into a way of seeing that is broad and spacious. See this Day, from the time you arose this morning until you sleep this evening, as one Ceremony, divided into small and familiar rituals, your Heart as the Altar. You, part of the Cycles of Light and Darkness. Now begin to see your Life, from the moment of your Conception until the time of your Death as one long, continuous Ceremony, filled with many rituals, some familiar, some unknown and challenging. Your Home and all Your Relations, the Altar. You, part of many Seasons and Cycles. Now see this Ceremony of your Life as part of a much larger Ceremony that extends Seven Generations into the Past and Seven into the Future, made up of many Births and Deaths. This beautiful spinning Earth the Altar. You, part of the great Ebb and Flow. Now, if You will, imagine this larger Ceremony to be but one part of a Ceremony so grand, so magnificent as to be hardly comprehensible, a great, vast Ceremonial Circle, rich and vibrant with millions upon millions of swirling Circles of Dancing Light, and You, one of those Dancing Circles, a Dancer on the Altar that is the Universe, where Time is Eternal. May You Dance In Beauty. Susanne Petermann Entrapped En trapped By infinity i scoured the universe In search of a border line Yet at every coordinate The silence was Divine copyright Silent Lotus  
© 2007 Kenneth Parker photographer PO Box 601 Carmel-by-the-Sea, CA 93921 
Misty Mountains, by Laurens van Aarle, 2006, Okutama-Park, Tokyo Prefecture Hi all, Eric is a young man I babysat for when I lived in Nashville. He was about 10 in 1990 when I knew his family. After moving to LA I lost touch with his family though occasionally heard updates from my friends the Keaggy's, who were their neighbors when I knew them. Eric has been living and working in Nicaragua for the past two years. In November of last year he was arrested for the rape and murder of an ex-girlfriend in a small town 2 hours from his home in Managua. In spite of the fact that there are 10 witnesses and cell phone and car rental documents that clearly place him in Managua during the entire time that the crime took place, he was not only put on trial but convicted and sentenced to 30 years in prison. He is living with constant death threats in the prison where he is being held. He and his father, Jan Eric Volz, narrowly escaped with their lives from the mobs that were near rioting outside of the courthouse. That is the story in a nutshell. I am emailing all of you to ask you to please go to the links below to find out more and to join me in thought and prayer for Eric and his family as they endure this nightmare and for his quick and safe release. These sites also have ways of helping Eric and his family by emailing them (which is so encouraging in the darkest times, even from strangers), how to contact congressmen on Eric's behalf and how to donate to his defense fund. His step-father has resigned his position at Belmont University and he, Eric’s mother Maggie and father Jan are spending most of their time in Nicaragua to support Eric and work for his release. If you have websites please consider posting these links to increase awareness of Eric’s situation. Please also pass this email or these links to friends to continue the support and awareness. www.friendsofericvolz.com www.myspace.com/freeericvolz Thank you for allowing me to share this with you. And thank you for listening. Sincerely, Ellen I sit the serenity of silence washes over me I seek nothing this moment has found me God as artist bestows grace-gifts artfully When looking at another person, just look... don't add on ten-thousand thoughts to what you are seeing. Love welcomes with outstretched arms all those who have lived too long in the house of fear and hate See with the deeper seeing Listen with the deeper listening Speak with the deeper speaking Sing with the deeper singing Pray with the deeper praying Walk with the deeper walking Dance with the deeper dancing Learn with the deeper learning Live with the deeper living Love with the deeper loving Be with the deeper being © Michael Lechner Endings © 1990 Russ DiBella Like the time Your best friend moved Or you did - you didn't think you'd ever find another Irreplaceable Or those last days of summer Vacation - your clothes never fit back into your suitcase You didn't want them to Or those last days of school Senior year goodbyes and goodlucks "See you this summer" - maybe And that special one You were sure that was it It never felt so right - that's what it hurt so bad It didn't matter who decided Even dying Maybe it's like all of these... combined I don't know I don't want to Two Photos by Becky Geist 
© 2007 Becky Geist Untitled by Sean If I could come back again To live another life I would choose to be A tree Knowing that every day Till the end of my days I had grown… ------------------------------------ Eyes of the Ancient I have seen the world grow For the past five hundred years I have seen men and beasts go by Countless generations of each My home was so different when I was young I can hardly remember it For the sun, winds, and rains Of change Have fallen many a tree And moved many mountains I stretch my arms toward the sky Always reaching for the life-giving sun I root my feet in the soil of my home Touching the soul of the earth I have endured the ever-changing seasons With strength and stability matched by none And to this day I stand strong and proud Always watching, always feeling Though not always understanding what goes on But I will remain Many, many seasons more To watch, ever silent Until I touch the sky Spirit Wolves ©2000 shyloh gibbons This poem is dedicated to my best friend Author Earl P. Murray, He loved writing about Native Americans and wolves. After his passing I took the titles to everyone of his novels and this is how this poem came about. I won two awards for this and Earl's wife has one. While falling into the arms of the sky You can hear the rivers at sundown running free and long you can hear wolves whispering at dawn calling to the spirits of the moon Songs of the wolves beckoning the midnight sun gathering like a maze of shadows strange as it seems, they seize the night with howls that echo unknown mysteries Driven by lost trails after dark in an artificial reality they are spirit hunters, keepers of memories driven by the depths of darkness they are no stranger to the woods Their eyes peer at the falling red stars they begin to drink from the black waters the willows dance from the mist falling A spell of mental images of warriors in waiting On the edge forever; following the depths of their beliefs just time travelers with a free spirit living in the night dreamers realm 
As i searched for an idea for a new image for a New Years greeting,
I found this image in my archive from last summer.
It reminded me that rather than come up with a list of new years
resolutions, I could work daily to remember the child, the hope and
optimism of life. The rich color and texture of dreaming and
trusting. This images speaks all of that to me. I hope you see that
as well.
-Ej Carr Photo copyright Ej Carr Greener Grass by Lisa Wynn I returned home to reality today, from a trip to Washington DC. I lived like a college girl for four carefree days while visiting my very single, very savvy past roommate Colette. I relaxed in her funky studio apt, and spent breezy siren infused nights on her balcony donning a tank top and yoga pants without a care in the world. I quickly surmised that all those “chick-lit” books I see at Barnes and Noble were written about girls like Colette; beautiful, hip, smart and living the life of a forty-year-old sexy urbanite. I sat watching the commotion whirl below us, women pushing strollers while walking dogs on the way to the farmers market. Street side coffee shops nearby, filled to the brim with sleepy eyed bohemians chatting at outdoor cafe tables, writing in leather bound journals, with i-pod plugged ears. What would it be like if I had actually followed through on my move to Washington DC back in 1984, attending Georgetown University, living on this fourth floor apartment with its cat eye view? Trendy local music played from inside her apartment, something only she could find the best of. We sat eating cheese and crackers, drinking wine and chatting of old times, and people long since ancient history. Now at forty-two, I would be a rotten liar if I said I didn’t occasionally miss the freedom of being a single girl, with a small place of my own serenity to escape to, for no particular reason, other than hormones, to write or read, take a nap or hold my dog and watch the rain. I felt twenty years of exhaustion well up inside me that weekend, and realized what an toll stress had taken on me in the process. We strolled through Union Station, bought scones and coffee on the way to a Toulouse Lautrec exhibit at the Smithsonian. Later jumping on the subway to the memorial fountain to sit in the sun and hang our feet in the water and catch up on old times. Later that evening, I indistinctly recollect drinking part of a blue colored drink and somehow ended up singing Karaoke. Don’t even ask me how this happened and I pray my children never find any existing photos after I am dead. I unabashedly bellowed out a grand duet of "Summer Nights" from the movie Grease, with a small man skipping around me with a bubble gun, screaming "You go girl," while dancing in circles with a swing that even I envied. My thoughts went to my husband, back home cutting the grass oblivious to my new found talent. As soon as it began, it was over. I packed my things from her little apartment, which seemed almost like mine after only a few short days since I had violated its privacy. I had washed its dishes, made coffee and toast in its postage stamp sized kitchen, learned the nuances of its overheating DVD player just perfectly. The shuttle bus to the airport terminal left just as I was tearing around the corner, leaving me waving frantically behind. Now, with my flight promptly missed, I was told I needed to buy a new ticket, plus change fees and the difference in airfare. I blinked in disbelief and honestly, for a split second I thought of walking out of the airport and renting an apartment somewhere. It would have been cheaper than this ticket and I could have new furniture to boot. I would change my name to “Elise”, taking a carefree job in a vintage book shop, and laugh every Saturday with my new artist friends discussing our latest travel writing gigs. Would anyone miss me? Are the kids to old, running from work to friends? My husband could eat over the sink, freed of the world of breath-rite strips, laughing himself silly while drinking with blithe from the milk carton. I sat down for the long haul, waiting for the next flight, with my book and backpack, munching on stale remnants of a cinnamon chip scone from the day before, when I was approached by a man who keenly resembled a Las Vegas casino bar fly, winking and asking if he could buy me a coffee. I declined, thinking “when a drink offer from a bad comb- over becomes caffeinated, you know you are halfway to dead.” I caught my reflection in a window. My once dewy completion and rosy cheeks had now become a bit more angular, with the beginnings of smile lines appearing. If they got any deeper I surmised, could hide an entire set of car keys in there. Who cares if Botox is poison, pump me up; let me lather in the stuff, bake cookies with it. I am beginning to look like my mother. I thought about Colette and how different, yet alike we were. Her, not yet married, but always blissfully in love with some foreign dark haired dream with tanned arms the size of a small tree and a name that sounded like exotic food. Alfredo En Salate Calamari…or something like that. But when landing back home in Greensboro, and hitting the runway, I felt my pulse quicken at the thought of seeing my family again. I knew I was right where I was supposed to be, and sometimes our thoughts are “out of true” while on vacation. Although I know I really wouldn’t trade my life for being single in DC, I do know every girl needs a break. I do know the grass is not greener in Washington (unless you count the Mall area) or any where else for that matter. The well deserved break made me feel like a college girl again, and the occasional ability to do so, is good enough for me. Lisa Marie Wynn – Writer/Consultant/Fempreneur with five plus years of experience as a serial entrepreneur, with Artisans Cup Tea Company™, Hell on Heelz ™ Fempreneurs Group, and Artisans Press™ writing and marketing/PR where she is a travel writer and food critic for Hall PR in NYC. She has appeared in Southern Living, Southern Lady, FOX News, WBFJ “Ask the Expert” among others. She has contributed to publications globally, across North America, Canada and online. Her Tea company is national with distributors across the USA, blending for celebrities, resorts, spas, hotels and was included in the 2005 Oscars. She can be reached at www.artisanspress.com Christmas Love 2 poems by Roberta Anniks Christmas love settles down Ribbons wave throughout our town Snowfall lines roof and branch Jays squall and squirrels advance Bells chime ‘gainst the background Children can be spellbound ‘Specially if you surround them With sensual enchantments Like twinkles from a tall tree They get caught up in the brilliancy But you and me are quite grown Though we hide our tickle zone We can still fun and playfully Wear stocking caps and fantasies & find that gravity unwinds Near family,friends and furry things To them we pledge our heart and soul Mix everything in one casserole Let’s bake our holiday wishes true Tasty memories sure to ensue From our gathering at the fruity bowl Where we bite into what makes us whole Before we unroll the night & dream endearment dreams A Happy Happy New Year Poem Open your door - In rushes my love On a golden sled of a thousand best wishes Driven forward by the ticking hand That strikes midnight With a bang so loud I lift my strong arms And proclaim HALLELUJAH! Thank you most gracious God Of All Time For entrance into a new year Of possibility,probability,particularly Our love shining-on and the warm anticipation of Your sweet whispered words In the moonlit chamber of my room, My eager heart This night A poem about Mother by Hendricks Malone Osborne Mom was as Irish as a shamrock With beauty as delicate as Dad's rose garden A faith of steel coupled with a brittle body That walked with grim determination To Fisher's market with a pocketbook Twirling on her right arm like a cute propeller Mother and the four of us Were as close as sunrise and horizon Because we never doubted her love Her quick hands kneaded Old fashioned salt rising bread Hot dogs at noon on school day Coffee so hot it would burn her tonsils A little lady in a rocker talking with God Reading the Bible in a print dress and believing Epilepsy not erasing her hope for healing Her affliction putting a cloud over Her being, yet overcoming What was Mother's response to suffering? Fresh doughnuts for her children On a winter's morn Others would be bedridden Ruth played "Blessed Quietness" On an old piano Through it all her Irish eyes Never stopped smiling Her love for family and God Never stopped growing Her children's hearts Never stop remembering God's love through her Never stops permeating And old beggars she fed Are still celebrating Mom, your shenanigans are in Kansas, Maryland, Florida and Ohio With the 4 of us 9 years after you graduated To your halls of Higher happiness Your children still smile At the mention of your name So get out the old gray Jokebook, kids And read of Pat and Mike Rejoice that Ruth passed by And made us wink at life. Court Green in memory of Sylvia Plath Wind. Leaves, moss, grass, Dirt, angry insects. Bees In the bedroom. Lies Will be told, yours and ours. Love sleeps deeply as any Contagion. Fierce solitude, You are drunk on honey. © Jill Falzoi, 12 September 2006 2 Poems By Megan Bergert THE PATIENT SPEAKS OF LIGHT With thanks to Langston Hughes I've known the Northern Lights Aurora Borealis, flashing and pulsating tone spinning down to earth. My soul has learned to look North again. I build my observatory on a frozen rock face, listening to ice floes click beneath my wake, yellow-bruised and predatory. I wait, patiently, in a chair of woven reeds, looking beyond the drenching darkness to bathe in a green phosphorescent fingertip curling slowly downward. I rock between two thin trees, reaching to pull down the specter of yellow green night air, tasting the difference it will make to this night and others; Waiting, Rocking, Swinging out over the cracked rim of the sea. My soul has learned to look North again. Declaration of Independence by Megan Bergert This July 4th while I am celebrating my independence, while I am reveling in my freedom, while I am focused on American the Beautiful . . . I will not buy illegal fireworks and light them with a gas station Bic lighter, then stumble-run away, looking over my shoulder, because someone's brother once lost all his fingers and besides nice families content themselves with sparklers. I will not plant the wilted flowers that I bought in a flurry of indecision as my laundry dried a block away and before my tire would explode and my car would wreck and I would thank God the mess in my trunk wasn't there to fly all over the road because if the association is worried, they can help themselves. I will not sing with Keith Lockhart and the Boston Pops outside on a stage under the night sky watching the fireworks explode as I hit my high C because I will be writing instead because I chose to teach. I will not concern myself with illusions, I will not allow myself to be deluded. I will eat strawberries with the children beneath the forgiving shade of a tree. 
Three Photos by Joy Guest
"That Night" by Jill Sharpe You sat there that night Nervous yet exhilerated To have found the perfect friend In me. You sat there that night Wringing your hands, My presence was intoxicating And you stuttered searching for words. You sat there that night Spilling your soul. I could see it leaking onto the interior Of your mother's car, in vain. You sat there that night Flesh burning hands twitching- Yearning for the courage To look me in the eyes. You sat there that night Expressing your gratitude While laying your baggage out For me to dust off then cast away. You sat there that night Praising my inner wisdom That you could not seem to find Within yourself. I sat there that night Silently acknowledging the heat in the air Knowing you would never take that Leap of faith into my open arms. "Symbolism" by Jill Sharpe I stand here missing the real you. She wrote poems honoring her health. The word ch'i cries out to be recognized as vital energy. She wrote poems about the basic skill of being able to separate thinking from feeling. Be gentle when you touch bread - you use your intelligence to create the truth. She wrote poems stating; "Remove yourselves from your personal drama and realize that it is all symbolic." I stood there searching for the real you. But that would lead to anarchy! Everything is burning... Everything is dust. Confidence has been a central issue for everyone. -- Seven hundred stories Some speak of shame Some speak of glory; And it all begins again With me. A Poem by Quinten Taylor, 7 years old by Ellen Hi all, This is from Heidi Volz, one of "my kids" meaning one of the four kids I nannied for in Nashville and with whom I am still close. So, I am sending this as a proud "grand nanny". Quinten Taylor has one of the sweetest, most sensitive spirits I've ever seen in a child with an amazing relationship with God that is obvious to anyone who spends anytime with him. When I stayed with his family in Missouri as I was driving cross country he gave his shoe box to Lucy (my cat who found refuge in the box in his closet) and gave me one of his pogs to stay another night. This poem so captures his spirit. I pray that this beautiful spirit doesn't get quenched. I had to share. These were the simple directions given to him: Write a poem about yourself describing your personalites and characteristics. Your words can rhyme or they can just describe you. It's a name poem. (Granted his first name starts with a Q, so he decided to use his middle name. A little bit easier.) This is what he wrote. I have written it per letter by him, misspellings and all. To be exiting I found this very profound for boy who goes to public school, wrote it while in school, and doesn't attend church on a regular basis. Enjoy and share as you feel to do so. The Goddess Is Gone by Heather Eatman Back in the time before there was running water and electric lights, I was a young singer songwriter who didn't know the meaning of the word commercial. So I simply wrote music in the genres that I liked, which included genres popular in the 30s, 40s and 50s. By the time I was signed to my first record deal, I had accumulated quite a bit of original material that was jazzy and swingy. However, when I got signed, I was told that pop was the way to go if I wanted to have a career. All of this material was abandoned ... until now. Doll Hospital is my new band composed of jazz musicians and me whose mission it is to revisit these quirky, noir story-songs -- titles including: Face Down, Bluebird Ballroom, The Goddess is Gone, My Ex-Wife, Charlie Takes the Cake, etc. In this band, I play my big archtop jazz guitar, Nick Mancini plays vibraphone, and Andy Burns and Jim Whitney are on drums and bass respectively. The goddess is gone Proud by Rachael Sage when I am with you I am proud... proud to be with you proud to be heard proud to be seen, I admit (breathtaking as you are) if your shadow were not hovering loudly I'd sing, vibrations permitting my heartbeat to say what little I'm willing to articulate; that despite being slightly less than twice your age I've been meditating in wisterian ways upon gardens of charming I'd vowed... vowed to be disciplined vowed to behave vowed to learn from so many slow mistakes, cruelly as I've learned what yet readily I'm soul-tempted to dismiss (yes!) I'd swing, from vine to vine in my red reckless way with spiritless common sense lurking hot below a boiling river of what I should know at bay 'midst affection's naive afterglow. A New Awareness by Marge Oliver In August of 1979, I moved back to Ohio where much of my childhood was spent. This time, however, I came with my daughters. Andrea was 1 1/2 years old and Amy was 11 months old. We moved into a townhouse on a pleasant street. I got babysitters for my daughters and a job at at a Malone College. Life was good again, and my divorce had just become final. We felt safe, secure, and were beginning to live life as our own little family. The landlord and his girlfriend who lived next door seemed friendly enough. Tim was always more than glad to be of assistance. He painted my downstairs and helped with miscellaneous tasks. Julie, his common law wife, had a daughter about 1 1/2 years old, and she was pregnant. It was about 6 months later when one day I came home, unlocked the kitchen door, and an eerie feeling came over me. It was the feeling you get when on Halloween you enter a haunted house. I felt tentative, and the hair on my neck seemed to stand up. For the first time, I felt scared. We went in, and I became busy with dinner preparations while both girls got involved playing with their favorite toys. After dinner, I walked up the stairs. It was bath time. I started to walk into the bathroom and there it was, this strange sensation flowing over me again. I felt as if someone had been in there who wasn't supposed to be. I looked around and noticed my sage green rug was not lying in front of the sink. That was strange. I hadn't done laundry in a couple of days. I noticed that Andrea's potty chair was not positioned next to the bathtub. That was very strange, too. Had the girls moved things around while I was in the kitchen? I looked further upstairs, no rug, no potty chair to be found anywhere. As I continued looking, the realization hit me. Some of Amy's darling little dresses and sweaters were missing. I started freaking out! I went down to the basement, but there was no sign of the missing items there either. I started to think, "Am I nuts? Maybe I moved these things when I was in a hurry and forgot?" That seemed to be the most logical explanantion. Afterall, I was the mother AND the father these days and seemed to be always running late. So I let it all go, thinking "Marge, you've really got to get a grip on yourself!" A week later, one day I came home and experienced that same feeling that had grabbed me the week before. "Something is not right," I thought. I looked around the house before beginning to make dinner. Something was weird. I looked in the hutch. I knew something was wrong, and yet I didn't know what. I had strange sensations flowing over my entire body. The kids began playing. As I was peeling potatoes over the kitchen sick, it hit me. The girls' Mickey Mouse piggy bank was not on the windowsill. It had been almost full of various tinkling coins. Where was it? I knew I had left it there that morning. Then I also realized that my diamond ring and my opal ring were gone! I always had put them on the windowsill when I washed dishes, and had accidentally left them there. Someone had been in my apartment! I called the police. I was scared, angry, frustrated, and fearful. Who could it be? Had anybody seen anyone around my doors that day? The police arrived. I tried not to sound hysterical. I told them all the facts and tried to keep the emotion out of my story. All the time I wanted to scream, "Somebody has broken into my house!" Would they come back when we were there? Would they hurt my children or me? The police made a report. They were nice and seemed to take my report seriously. They asked me if anyone else had a key to our townhouse. I couldn't think of anyone. The manager and I were the only two people who had keys that I knew of. A couple of weeks passed. Then one day, returning home with my daughters and groceries, the phone rang. It was my neighbbor at the far end of the complex. She told me that she had seen Julie coming out of my apartment that morning with her skirt wrapped around something. I looked throughout my home and found more missing items: my sewing machine, my iron, figurines from my hutch, the second potty chair that I had purchased a few weeks earlier, and a ham from my refrigerator. I kept thinking as I roamed through my house, "How could our neighbhor do this? She seemed so nice and friendly. After all, she has a little girl too!" I called the police a second time. They arrived and began asking questions. I told them what my neighbor had witnessed that morning. I wanted them to go over and search Julie and Tim's home. I was sure my belongings would be there. They responded that unless I was sure that they'd find my things, it could mean more trouble for me. A woman alone, two young daughters, no weapons, and a thief next door! I had really had it by then. I called the rental office and complained. They did not take my complaint seriously. I let some time pass as I tried to figure out what to do. I knew that if I moved out and broke my lease, I would not get my deposit back of $700. We needed that money. All of our belongings of any worth were gone. The lease would be up at the end of August. I thought to myself, "I'll tough it out." A few months later, one Sunday morning, I was getting the girls ready for church. We were hustling around, I got them breakfast, and was getting their smocked dresses out of the upstairs closet. Then I suddenly heard a blood curtling scream...then another...then...please stop....sobbing....a child crying....and a man cursing. It was coming from next door, from Tim and Julie's apartment, the manager's apartment, the thief's apartment! "Mommy, mommy, what is that?" My daughters were scared. My nerves were frayed, tears were welling up in my eyes, and I said, "girls, maybe their tv is on really loud." They seemed to accept that explanation. We were out the door and on our way to church. I kept asking myself, "How have we managed to live almost a year in this place?" I decided we had to move. I borrowed a friend's van. With the welfare of my daughters at stake, $700 didn't seem like alot of money. We were moving NOW. My sister agreed to watch my daughters. I started to load up the van. I didn't have much. I came back to the townhouse at 3PM that afternoon. Exhausted, but feeling as though it was time to move on, I was determined to put the terror of the last year behind us. I unlocked my kitchen door to take a last look around. I heard crying from the manager's apartment. I opened my front door and saw a policeman carrying all of Julie and Tim's belonging to the curb. They were being evicted. "Ah Ha," I thought to myself. Finally some justice! I sat down on my front step as my neighbor from the far end of the building approached. She said, "well, how much of your stuff do you think they will be bringing out?" Then I heard the cry of a newborn baby and saw the oldest girl hanging on to her mother's leg, sobbing. Policeman were removing bottles from the empty refrigerator, and almost everything was on the curb. Tim was being sent off to jail, they were losing the apartment. Julie was left there with 2 little girls, no money and no resources. A strange, prickly feeling flowed through my body, but this time I wasn't scared. I went up to her and said, "Julie, I'd like to help you if I can. I have a van, and I'd be happy to take you and the kids out of here. Do you have any place to stay?" As I looked into her eyes, I saw emptiness. At that moment, I felt all of the bitterness that had been building inside of me for months crack and fall off my shoulders. A warm surge of love took its place. I grabbed the little girl, and Julie followed me with her baby. Ten minutes later we arrived at an address in a pretty rough part of town. Julie said, "here it is." We climbed the long staircase. She fumbled with the new key. I helped her into a musty smelling living room. The first thing that caught my eye was a little light on a dresser that made my heart fall down to my knees. It was the little jeweled painted egg light that my grandmother had given to me! "Oh Julie, how could you? What have I ever done to you?" Beside it were other precious items that had been presents from dear friends who lived in California. Julie began to cry and said, "don't put me in jail, please please! You can have it all back!" My heart softened. This young woman had less than I. My body tingled. "Julie, if these things mean that much to you, you may have them. People mean more." I asked if they had food. She replied, "No." I said, "c'mon, let's go get something to eat. I took them to Wendy's. In the van, on the way back, she asked me why I was helping her. The only words that came out of my mouth were, "Because Jesus loves me and you." I asked for only one thing, the ring that my daughter's father, my ex-husband, had given me. I said, "I want my girls to have that someday." We went back to the townhouse, and she came out with the ring. I felt love for Julie and her children. I also thought about how much mercy God had shown ME through the years, and with this a realization that my new life was beginning. That day I promised God that no matter what would come my way, THINGS would never come between my love for Him and being obedient to what he asks of me. I walk though this story with my students every year. If it touches the life of one student, my living has not been in vain. Snow by David Gersten www.aminoacidpower.com There's nothing to learn Only to remember To remember Looking past the years The joy and tears The changing beliefs in what is real I am five years old again Racing to see the snow falling Because it is falling And perhaps to catch one snowflake Just for an instant To capture its mystical beauty in my hand And in my mind Before it melts I am running into the snow Six inches deep I can almost get lost in it I pick up a handful And mold it like clay Because it does mold Into snowballs and castles I am thirteen And happy to awaken to a snowy morning I shovel the sidewalk and steps for many houses And can earn a few dollars I save the money I am sixteen driving my '54 Ford Fairlane With 420 horses under the hood Proud to take my friends to school It's a blizzard I forget which way the traffic flows on 13th street And make the wrong decision I step on the gas and experience My first car accident Many snow-related car accidents would follow I rode my bicycle miles to medical school Through slushy snow I don't know why exactly Perhaps there was limited parking for cars at school I was strong and tougher than snow Still the snow would capture me I learned how to spin my Saab around and around 360 degrees through an icy intersection - on purpose I'm twenty-six, married with a child And happy to be starting my psychiatry residency In beautiful San Diego Far from the snow Very far from snow and cold winters Safe from the snow Are Californians happier than others? No The ocean always called me Jones Beach age three My father holding my hand While the waves took his swim suit Down to his ankles Thirty years later I still love the ocean To swim and boogie board To feel the power of this giant Pacific To laugh when she tosses me upside down Thrashes me against the pebbled ocean floor I laughed and ran back out into the waves Over and over again Now I sit at the water's edge Drinking in the sunset The most extraordinary painting And thanking Mother Earth For the wet sand beneath my feet This is where I, Silver Wolf, Hold my shamanic ceremonies I'm a Hindu, I'm Silver Wolf A Lakota Indian, a doctor, a cowboy, a composer I'm respected I always believed in the truth of Michelangelo And Da Vinci One man can do many things well They are my heroes along with Zorba But the bills pile higher through the years Deep in meditation And contemplation on the words Of great saints and sages I have pondered this reality Progressing so far, so fast They call me a genius They always have They do not understand That I just tear down walls And watch the light Pouring through the cracks Ha! We are all geniuses But few of us will tear down walls In learning what I am I have come to believe That, like you, I am God A mighty river that will Merge with the sea Year by year I learn more And become a simpler man Each day is Halloween It's all make believe I can dress as doctor, casual Californian Hindu in whites, Lakota in blue jeans Cowboy boots and buckskin Who has hidden my yarmulke? It's quite fun because I know it's Halloween And one day I will slip out of this body The same way I slip out of a tuxedo or tennis shoes The more I learn The more I know That there is nothing to learn There is much to unlearn And much to remember I know that Now is the only Time And I know Time and Space do not exist I know that Divine Love is the goal and the path And I'm remembering Sticking my tongue out On a cold winter day long ago Trying to catch one snowflake For no reason whatsoever It's cold. It's safe Mainly, it's fun And I have no idea why I am standing barefoot in the snow I am five years old And I am remembering Slowly remembering That everything there ever was to know Exists in the dance that children know And adults forget I'm just trying to remember Snow Carly -Age 3 You know what I do if I see a Lion in the woods? I whack it I whack it I whack it. Miracle by Rossana Snee What is a miracle? The silent voice peaking from behind your daily chatter; the fleeting thought, God's whisper, whispering he loves you no matter; the knowing you're not alone, but guided through each second, minute, lifetime. What is a miracle? Music, poetry, the muse creating beauty, art, perfection in simplicity. What is a miracle? Love, unconditional, everlasting, always present. What is a miracle? God. And you . . . her hands in Earth's affairs. Thoughts from Jenny Baxley Lee So this is where I am at.Starting my own small business so that I can be near this little girl, just 11 weeks in the world... And trying so hard to let go of her, already, and not cling so desperately to each part of her so quickly growing, changing and slipping through a mother's fingers... Starting a business at this time is a struggle, a huge risk, but it is the work of my heart. As I ask the universe for guidance, and I open the pages of a favorite book of poetry here is what I find: "I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.I want to free what waits within me so that what no one has dared to wish for may for once spring clear without my contriving. If this is arrogant, God, forgive me, but this is what I need to say. May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children. Then in these swelling and ebbing currents, these deepening tides moving out, returning, I will sing you as no one ever has, streaming through widening channels into the open sea". (from Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God) Here finds me. Blessings to you. Thoughts from Jaimie When I got to college, I wasn't fortunate enough to place out of language classes all together. I was placed in a particular class that was spoken completely in French, and I did not understand a word my professor said. So one day, as I was attempting to learn the conjugation of "to stop", or something like that, my eyes kind of drifted over to the other side of the long table we all sat at. I noticed, for the first time, how much one of the boys in my class resembled a character from this really old, completely cheesy 80s movie my friend Charity and I used to watch as kids. Now, Charity was killed when I was a senior in high school. So I looked out the window and in my thoughts I said, "Hey Cha, get a look at this kid, he looks just like Cru." Immediately after I said it, a bird flew by and landed in the tree right outside the window of my classroom. And yeah, maybe it was just a coincidence. But to me, it was like she was listening and the bird was her way of saying, "I'm here, and I know what you mean." A Home for the Puppies Tim Connelly When my wife and I first moved to Wilmington, our finances were non-existent and our credit was shot. She had been offered a good job so we made the move on faith, in a broken down van that had no reverse gear. I found this ugly little dog and rescued it from running wild outside a local restaurant. Sharon was not thrilled with me for bringing it home to our apartment. We named her Sia for reasons I no longer remember. She loved me very much for reasons that were very obvious: I fed her, played with her, and gave her loads of attention. One day when I came home, she was nowhere to be found. I thought to myself, has the nosy maintenance man discovered she's here and taken her from the apartment. We had no pet permit so we were harboring her against the rules of the lease. But as I searched for her, to my amazement I found her with 4 puppies in the closet! Talk about being in the dark, we had no idea she was carrying puppies. There was no way to keep them. We simply didn't have the money to pay the pet deposit. And besides, we were allowed to only have one pet, not 5. So reluctantly, I called the Humane Society and told them I needed to find a home for a mother dog and her 4 puppies. Somebody there was very friendly and told me to bring them in. So I drove there with my son and had to park my van at an odd angle (remember I had no reverse gear; it had not worked in more than a year). Once again the Humane Society person was very nice and as I walked out with the puppies safely in their hands, I turned around and asked how long they would seek a home for them. 3 days was the usual time limit I was told. 3 days? "We are often successful in finding a home", I was told. "What happens if you don't?" The answer was simply not acceptable. However, taking the puppies home was not an option. I asked the lady to give me some time to consider my options. And then, the decision was made. "I can't leave them here. I'm taking them back home." What in the world am I going to do now, I wondered. How am I going to explain this to Sharon? As I struggled to get the van out of the space, I became more and more frustrated. We pushed and shoved but nothing. I shifted it into reverse and it backed up with no hesitation. My mouth was wide open with the thought that I was being rewarded for not putting these puppies to sleep. And sure enough, we were able to keep the puppies at our apartment, use our reverse gear, and eventually find homes for the puppies. I'm sure there's a logical explanation: surely there are no special rewards for caring about defenseless, innocent animals. But a week after the final puppy left us, the reverse gear went out again, never to return. The Picture Perfect Family Becky Groves We've always been the picture perfect family. We were envied because of our bright photographic smiles in all our family pictures. Our teenage children had never been in trouble a day in their lives. They all got straight A's on their report cards. They volunteered in our community and have held jobs since they were in their early teens. All of them bought their own cars, pay for their own clothes, and have grown up to be responsible young adults. We took them to church every Sunday and instilled values into them that any parent would be proud of. On Martin Luther King Day 2003, my son sent e-mails to myself, his dad, and his sisters telling us that he is gay. This was something that was not a shock to me. It had crossed my mind many times while Adam was growing up. This was the day it would be confirmed. I can't say that I went through some of the things that other parents go through when they find out their child is gay. I was confident that I had done an excellent job parenting my children. My only regret was that maybe I should of talked to Adam about it sooner because he did go through a period in his life where he was deeply depressed and suffered from severe anxiety. Maybe my telling him that I knew would of saved him that. My husband was more shocked. He questioned his parenting thinking things like "I should of took him hunting and fishing when he was little" or "I should of made him go out for sports." I assured him that these things had absolutely nothing to do with Adam being gay. I immediately went online and ordered some books to read not only for myself, but for my husband also. One of Adam's sisters was not shocked, the other more so, but both were accepting from the very beginning. Adam knew that we all loved him no matter what. I was very scared for Adam to tell my parents, especially my Dad. My Dad has always been very opinionated about homosexuality and not in a positive way. Adam was so brave when he told them face to face what he had been hiding for years. My Dad told Adam that he loved him no matter what and nothing would change that. Of course, they went through their own struggles with acceptance but their love for Adam did not change. Adam in his quest to meet people who were like him, found a group called PFLAG. (Parents, Friends, and Family of Lesbians and Gays) He urged me to meet with the President and I did. We had a nice talk and I discovered that we had gone through almost identical emotions in accepting our sons' homosexuality. She invited me to come to the PFLAG meetings and I accepted. It is almost two years later and now my husband attends meetings also. I have been elected to serve on the board at PFLAG. I have become an advocate for gay rights by writing editorials in the paper, talking to people and even gave a presentation in front of my weight loss support group. There was not a dry eye in the room. My son instant messaged me the other day on the computer saying "I love you Mom! I think what you did for me and what you are doing for me is incredible!" I wish all gay children could be loved as much as mine is. It is my personal goal to talk and advocate and put a face on homosexuality changing one heart and one mind at a time. Homosexuality happens in real families. It happened in mine! I FEAR THE QUIET CLOSE TRUTH Peter Bruce I fear the quiet close truth, I know that I should not; my mother would wish otherwise I would lift myself to her and her dignity when quiet comes I fear the quiet close truth, I know that I should not, And I know strong men never do. But sometimes fear feels like removal from that in front of me; And that in front of me feels a warm fire oven when it snows outside.. Usually. My life here in quiet close truth, creeping up on me like the choppy winter winds on the coast, grey coast, and cold gull, and questions about the size of the ocean. | ||||||||||
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