Sweet Solace

I'm gearing up to leave my retreat in the Alps in just two and a half more months. I'm going to miss these mountains of mine, the snow, the air, the solace, the sweet, the quiet, the French, the cheese....

But making a home in Portugal...along a beach with blue and wind and sun and shine and life and laughter and movement seems to be just what I'll need after my quiet days of solitude in one of God's greatest creations.

choose love

Fear is never love, and love is never afraid.

There is nothing to lose for love. Why should love be afraid? Love only gives. It is not a business transaction, so there is no question of loss or profit. Love enjoys giving, just as flowers enjoy releasing their fragrance.

Fear is a grave, love is a temple. In love, life comes to its ultimate peak. In fear, life falls to the level of death. Fear stinks, love is fragrant.

Be afraid of your ego, be afraid of your lust, be afraid of your greed, be afraid of your possessiveness; be afraid of your jealousy---but there is no question of being afraid of love. Love is divine! Love is like light. When there is light, darkness cannot exist. When there is love, fear cannot exist.

Love can make a great celebration out of your life, but only love--not lust, not ego, not possessiveness, not jealousy, not dependence.

A Mexican in Switzerland

Let's face facts. If life were fair, I would have been Mexican. If I were Mexican my life would have many aspects that it now lacks. If I were Mexican, I would know what it's like to be TAN! I wouldn't have to put SPF 10,000 on every time I go out under the sun. I wouldn't always have these super red cheeks. I could have long-brown-soft-thick-straight hair. People would actually be able to see my eyebrows without me having to paint them on (though, in regards to leg hair, it's been pretty nice to be this fair!). I'd speak Spanish fluently. My hips might be more appreciated. I'd probably be just a little shorter, which would be cool.....and maybe, just maybe I'd finally have that penchant for latin dancing that is missing in my blood. Plus, I could roll my Rs like Charo.

But why I REALLY think I should have been Mexican is because tortillas are what I dream about at night (even more regularly than Hugh Jackman). A good enchilada (and even a bad one) wins my heart over any boy. Rice and Beans are like Air and Water to me. I would eat this kind of food all day, every day, and then some. I would bathe in Sour Cream if I could. I would shower in Salsa. I would wash with Guacamole (these are not appetizing metaphors I'm using, so I'm gonna stop!)

PITY ALERT!!!

THERE IS NO MEXICAN FOOD IN SWITZERLAND. I have found ONE section of ONE store in ONE tiny town that has some SALSA. It's called, as you can see from the photo, "Chunky Salsa Dip"....um, did anyone ever think that salsa could sound unappealing? Yeah, me either...but there you have it. And let me tell you, it is NOT good. I don't know what it is made of exactly, just some stewed tomatoes or something? It's a tragedy really. AND IT COST ME 6 DOLLARS FOR A SMALL SMALL POT. If this country didn't have chocolate croissants I'd....And yeah, I have a feeling that my semi-annual trips home will be spent sleeping in the Cafe Rio parking lot....

As a sidenote...my new health blog is up and running....

Super Nova Health

Speaking of Charo...here's a GREAT little sketch from The Carol Burnett Show

The Yellow Orphan

When I was 27 I met my first orphan. She lived in Brazil. She was in a bare room with dank yellow walls. She was in a yellow crib. She had a yellow t-shirt. She had a yellow cloth diaper. She ate yellow milk. She only had yellow.

I never thought that yellow could look sad, but sad it was. The yellow was sobbing quietly because it was conserving it's energy...and, well, it had learned long ago that no one listened if it cried out loud, so it cried quietly.

I was ushered into this clean and yellow orphanage by nuns dressed like Mother Teresa. White robes with two blue lines around the edging. They had, in fact, been trained by Mother Teresa. This orphanage was one of her legacies. It was one of the best run and cared for orphanages in the vast favela of Rio de Janeiro. My shoes, nice ones I had bought in New York City without thinking twice about them, echoed down the cement hallway. I followed the nun to the room with the babies.

That's where I saw her. She was lying in her yellow crib, dressed in yellow and looking at me with more intensity than I thought possible for a eight month old baby. She was quite. Her eyes latched onto my blond hair and I wondered if she'd ever seen that color before, then I smiled at myself, she LIVED in that color. I asked the nun if I could hold her.

The nun paused. She thought. I felt immediately awkward that the answer wasn't a certain "yes". She was hesitant. Why? I wondered why? It was the normal thing to do with babies, isn't it? To want to hold and love and care for them? At least, for me, it's always been like that. I simply adore bringing a child's cheek and resting it on my chest...delicately putting one hand on the back of her head and the other cradles her body. our hearts touching. There's nothing so fully comforting as that.

The nun, still, looked at me. I wondered at the pause. She wanted my money, I knew, and so she didn't want to offend me. She gave me a tiny tin necklace with a patron saint on it when I entered to get God and myself on her side. And yet, she didn't want me to hold the little yellow clad baby either.

It dawned on me.

It would make her job and the baby's life more complicated. Generally, the babies weren't held or cuddled very much. When babies get used to that, they want it, we all would want it. If the babies in the orphanage got use to that...then they would cry more, they'd be dissatisfied more...they would, in a sense, learn what love is and then learn to miss it when it was no longer there.

If I held the baby, she might love it for the hour I got to spend with her, but then what? What about the next month where no one paid attention to her like that. No one sang or rocked her or hugged her or put their heart to hers.

I looked at the nun, "Nevermind, " I said as I made my decision. A hard decision because I desperately wanted to hug this little one. Instead, I leaned over her crib and rubbed her tummy and sang her a song all while making eye contact. I did this for an hour.

Then I never saw her again.

I felt pretty dang useless that day.



BOOK RECOMMENDATION:

Boxed up Dreams

From the moment you're born to the moment your grown you are constantly put into boxes that shape the definition you have of yourself. Usually we think these are bad, but there are many boxes I wouldn't want to escape from. I'm a Woman, a feminist, a daughter, a teacher, a photographer, an artist, and a million other things. The beauty is that YOU get to determine what boxes you want to expand, which ones you want to crawl out from, which ones you'll snuggle into, and ultimately how you organize it all into one beautiful life adventure.

I had my boxes neatly stacked. I had a vision of what my life would hold. I had happiness in each corner. Love is there. Soul is there. Music is there. Family is there. Friends are there. Laughter is there. It's all there. Just there. And it's so so so good. And you just don't think it can get any better. Right.

But guess what. It can.

As a little girl I ALWAYS knew that life was going to be a big deal for me. I believed I was special. I don't think that's a unique thought at 5 or 7 or 9 or 12 or 15...but then again, maybe it is. I've had big dreams that I've chased that have brought me here and I realize the absolute biggest dreams are just starting. That's the most exciting adventure of all. Things my brain couldn't even create out of incredulousness are now all seeming like regular life expectations. Effortlessly they just keep coming.

I haven't felt a lot of emotions lately for obvious reasons. I've been pretty numb...dealing with a lot of pain...more than should be dealt with at one time for any of us humans. And yet, for the first time this weekend, I finally felt that welling up of undeniable excitement and the possibility that dreaming big and watching those dreams come to fruition has started to catch fire within me. It's a flame. It's starting to burn. I see it all. No one is in my way. A world of support around me. A new world waiting to be discovered. A new person to fall in love with. A new language to learn. A new map to navigate. And lots and lots of new people to love and help and learn from.

Wow.


Honey, I'm gonna need some bigger boxes.

Music is My Boyfriend

Music helps me deal. Here are some good songs I can't get enough of lately:

Love her lyrics..so.so.so much. Plus I went through a time when I would only read Shakespeare.



Makes me still kind of believe in love...kind of. And I think that maybe I should learn the Ukelele.




Alexi can lure to me sleep like no one else.




Some of the most beautiful sounds ever.



Music, the universal language.

Life Changing

Last weekend my life was changed. For good. In one thirty second moment. It had been building up all weekend over a number of amazing moments. I posted on facebook. I was going to share. And yet, as I told the story a few times, it started to lose some of it's magic...and, well, I don't really want it to.

So, I'm a gonna keep it just for me. But know that this Super Nova is changed!