white

 White light is defined as the complete mixture of all of the wavelengths of the visible spectrum.

Completeness

Purity

Where would you go if you wanted to hike in a pure white area? Winter time in Alaska? The South Pole? White Sands? I had that opportunity last night. The landscape was rocky, but the rocks were rounded. Large and small rocks, not easy to hike on, but we had a path along an edge. In addition, I was carrying a very small girl, like one carries a baby. She was wrapped snugly to keep her limbs from shifting, because she had been injured. Her head was free, though, and we communicated a bit with facial gestures. 

This was a segment of a larger story, one of a group of people on a vacation tour. We were all in a large room, preparing to return home; gathering our belongings, doing final prep, whatever that might have been. Briefly I took the hand of a person who, in my waking world, I don’t really care for. That’s all. 

When my life is over, and I transition to the pure white afterlife, I will carry the ghost of my wounded childhood with me, and will encounter people who I don’t care for, but are on the same journey to the same place. A place where all is healed and perfected.

White. Love's vibration.

two ways of knowing things

I have a little two minute story for you. A cat, my cat, was sitting peacefully on a table, and that’s where she was meant to sit. Another cat walked into the room, saw the cat on the table, crouched and prepared to jump and attack. The table sitting cat saw this, and prepared for battle. I couldn’t let that happen, so I smacked the floor cat on the nose and it ran away. The table cat returned to it’s peaceful pose. Now I went to the other room, found the cat I had bopped on the nose, knelt down, and made eye contact with it. We looked at each other, and I let it know I still loved it. It understood, then came over to me and curled up in my lap. The end.

Dreams can be so much more entertaining than just the facts. Here are the facts. I was sleeping peacefully, woke up for a middle of the night potty stop, and came back to bed. I decided to sleep in the position that sometimes causes me pain, just to see if that was still happening. It was, and now the pain stayed with me no matter what sleep position I tried. So I firmly bent my brain to stop the pain. It worked. The pain went away and I was able to complete a decent night’s sleep. I can’t be angry at what caused the pain, just like I can’t be angry at the floor kitty. I love that kitty. I love my body.

So apparently my dreaming mind showed me another way of looking at that situation. One part of my body aggravated another part of my body and I had to firmly take control of the situation. Which I did. And peace returned. The end. 

triune rose

 

This one was a little outside my comfort zone, and it probably shows, but outside my comfort zone is one of my favorite places to do some exploring...

windows

 

beauty

 

words not necessary...

Valentine fun after the fact

More work. The design on the left started with the irregular quadrangle in the middle, then I added strips, going around the central piece, always lining up with the side angles. After I was finished with that work, I added the lacy strips mirroring the central piece, but  as an inverted mirror image. My kind of fun, merging randomness and rigid order in the same piece. The poem on the back is mine, of course. 
 

finding the wild spirit

This, to me, is a pretty insipid photo. The trees and bushes on the left have no artistic merit; the colors are expected greens and browns, which have inspired lots of camouflage fabrics. 

But there's a lovely curved road. Sensual lines, almost. I would like to be on this road, walking, riding my bike, traveling (which we were doing.) It is inviting, and I could imagine it curving on into the distance.

People are like that. We don't attract much attention, camouflaging our wild spirits so as not to draw too much attention to ourselves. But somewhere our wild spirit peeks out anyway, like that curved road. We just have to know how to find it in each other.

two more

Two of my earlier works, before I decided to put my poetry on the back. 

 

sometimes there's an easier way

 What shall I write about? My days have been satisfying, but not noteworthy. My walking continues to improve, my workroom sees a lot of me as I happily work on sewing and creating. 

But none of that is, shall we say, poetic or visionary.

But my nights are always an adventure. What will interrupt my sleep this time? Hip pain? Shoulder pain? Night sweats? Bladder urgency? Ok, that’s not the majority of time, I’ll admit. The more interesting adventures are my dreams. 

This one, for example. I was tooling along on a country road, and thought about a forest I had known about. Maybe I can find the entrance? 

Oops, I just passed it. There was no indication ahead of time, no sign, no  intersection marking on the road. Just a brief opening in the trees. 

This forest called out to me. I knew somehow that it was dense with trees, almost primordial. Yet it was also a peaceful, healing forest. 

I turned around to go back to the entrance.

Oops. I missed it again. I did a u-turn, and searched carefully for the entrance.

Damn! I can’t believe it! I missed it once again. 

Ok, this is getting on my last nerve. I’m going to turn around one more time, and drive very slowly.

And guess what! I got to the entrance. 

It was a narrow path, and stepping onto that path felt like walking through a door into another room. Perhaps it was. But as I stepped into that forest, still on the path, it was pitch black. I couldn’t see anything. Not only that, the path was at a high elevation, and with no fence or guard rails to keep a wanderer safe, especially in the dark. I knew it was likely I’d fall and die.

So I backed out. It wasn’t for me. 

As I returned to the road, the forest sent me a visual message. There was another way in. Keep going, at a lower elevation I’ll find wide roads that will take me safely into the woods.

The easy way. 

The forest was alive? It sent me a message? So it seems. I’ve been thinking about this dream for a couple of days without finding any meaning or story in it…until I decided to let the forest tell the story.

And it did. 

“You don’t always have to do things the hard way, my dear. I tried several times to get you to forget about the dangerous high entrance. But no. You were insistent. So when you  stepped into my world, I turned out the lights. That got your attention and you finally gave up. Now you can drive down to the paved entrance and enter my domain the easy way.” 

first we listen

 I’m almost finished with the final (I hope) edit of my second book of dreams, visions, memoirs, and occasional pissy rants. In that book, on the page I looked over today, is a poem I had written. I had said that “no” was a slower form of “yes”. That comment led to a lengthy and occasionally testy argument with a good friend. He disagreed, saying no means no and yes means yes. 

Apparently, at that time, neither of us considered that the other might have a different experience leading to our different opinions. For me, depending on the situation, I would say “no” when I wished I could say “yes”, having to do with my own fears of engaging in something that I’d never done before, and didn’t think I had the grace, the strength, the energy, what have you. 

For my friend, his “no” had to do with a situation that was harmful to him, and his saying “no” was ignored by the stronger person, so he was forced to do what he didn’t want to do. 

I can see how each of us spoke from our own truth, yet neglected to share the backstory of our truths with each other. We both wanted our viewpoints respected; we just didn't realize we were each standing on separate stages, perhaps. I suspect we have both learned since then, to listen first before passing judgment. 

other brothers

 I just realized…

I’ve always wanted to meet an alien (sentient being from another part of the galaxy) and figured it just wasn’t going to happen.

However! When we die…assuming there’s one creator of this universe, and assuming we’ll all return to God, or source, or universal consciousness, or love (pick which works for you), then I’ll bet’cha  that’s when we’ll meet our brothers from another galaxy, assuming, again, that when they die, they’ll go to the same hereafter we’ll go to.

Yeeeee Ha!

Kingwood Center

 I'm looking forward to wandering around these formal gardens again this summer. I hope the peacock is still there, strutting his stuff. But oh my such ugly legs and feet! 

Wolf Run

 I've been staring at this photo for several days as it sat on my desktop. I don't particularly like it from an artistic viewpoint. It's just generic Ohio countryside. Obviously, humans have been here and cut down trees, built a path of sorts, but beyond that I have no clue. 

However. When I walk into the photo, I feel good. I feel the sunshine and fresh air. This is part of a bit of nature called Wolf Run. I don't see any wolves, never have for that matter, at least in the wild. I look forward to walking out here again when it warms up.

valentines

I continue to experiment with fabrics, designs, words, occasions. Valentines aren't big on my list of favorites, but I admit I'm having a lot of fun with these. 

In this case, the design is mine, the words are not.
 

more creating

 

the flow of life

I visited Madeleine  L’Engle’s house last night and saw her magnificent swimming pool.

Well, not really. I have little knowledge of what her house looks like. Nevertheless, she was on my mind; her story, her words, her descriptions of her husband’s death…

Her words touched our own lives. We quietly shared with each other our tears, our tenderness, our grief related to deaths we’ve experienced in our own lives. She and I trust each other as we bring out into the open old memories. 

Memories brought out into the open remind me of hanging laundry out on the line, letting the air and sunshine not only dry the clothes, but give them a refreshing scent that no clothes dryer can duplicate.

But that swimming pool at her house. It was so inviting, though I didn’t have an opportunity to enjoy it. Yet, that was symbolic, too. 

Water. Life. Flow. The flow of life doesn’t stop when we die, it continues on. We have both witnessed the ongoing flow of life after grieving their deaths. Death just…isn’t. It is still a mystery, but apparently those who love us have found ways of letting us know that life goes on.

if you blink, you'll miss it

Yesterday’s storm

When we went to bed, nothing was falling from clouds. We were alerted to a “weather advisory” which means, pretty much maybe, maybe not.

At 3:49 am a level 1 snow emergency was issued for our county. Roads were snow and ice covered.

At 5:51 am a level 2 snow emergency was issued, discouraging unnecessary travel. That meant schools would be closed.

At 10:00 am level 2 was downgraded to a level 1 snow emergency.

At 11:00 am the level 1 snow emergency was lifted.

And then, throughout the day, the temperature rose, and those who hadn’t cleared their driveways…didn’t need to. The stuff melted.

That particular storm should have gotten a speeding ticket.

savor this!

Today was an unsavory day. Savory, a spice I use to make pierogis, is nowhere to be found. One small jar: the last one was around for years. I only made pierogis three, maybe four times a year, so one bottle lasted a very long time. But I ran out, and forgot when I began to make pierogi filling yesterday. George went to our go-to big box store. There was none to be had. Well, ok, I’ll put the filling in the fridge until tomorrow (today) and we’ll find what we need at one of the three other local groceries. 

We started out in the morning, now going to the small specialty stores. There is no savory in central Ohio!!! How can that be? So we bought a reasonable, but not really good enough substitute, and I finished the pierogi filling. We talked about buying savory seed and growing our own. We’d be rich! Everybody would want to buy it from us! 

But no, not really. George ordered some ground savory. It should last us the rest of our lives.

We do not like being unsavory...

Oh yes, the photo. That was taken at Big South Fork in eastern Tennessee. I doubt there was any savory there, either. But we did see some unsavory characters...

nothing special

 No special words today, no words about the photo, either, except I really like this photo.

There's three inches, more or less, of wet snow, and it is beautiful, as it turns the naked leafless trees into white lace for awhile. That's all. We're staying indoors today, what with a level 1 snow emergency round about us. Not that it would stop us, if necessary, but...necessary isn't happening today...so far. 

life is a mirror looking at itself

She has one petal remaining, and when it falls, she will die. But for now, it is a gorgeous petal, saturated with regal color. Perhaps her memories are stored in those beautiful colors, memories of life’s challenges, of mountains climbed, of visions and dreams, of mysteries and puzzles, of love in all it’s various forms. she is indeed fortunate. 

The flower looks lovely, too...

pink pinecone

 I'm as happy as a pink pinecone.

What? You've never seen a pink pinecone?

Well, the tree in our front yard produced many of them...until the wind blew the tree down.

Oh ok, you know about pink pinecones, but you didn't know they were happy?

So have you ever asked one of them if it was happy? 

it is what it is

I sat at the kitchen window this morning, watching the sun rise. It was brief, just a sliver of gold, then a bit of red. then cloud cover. 

Gratitude.

I slept well in a comfortable bed, with clean sheets, with my husband next to me.

I am able to walk upright, without pain.

My eyes can still see.

The coffee was hot, the house was warm, the glass in the windows was not broken by bombs.

Gratitude for such simple everyday pleasures.

Yet they are more than most people around the world, and throughout history, have been able to experience. So the feelings of gratitude, of pleasure, are indeed real, but they are part of a much larger picture that includes pain, deprivation, fear, grief, all the common feelings of many of my brothers and sisters.  

I stand outside myself as witness. Witness to the pleasure, witness to the pain, all wrapped up in something larger and mysterious. It is what it is, and that's all I know for sure.

combining visual and verbal

I'm working on small table top art, since I'm running out of walls.

Here's the front...

and here's the back. 

 

two is actually one

an imaginary scene…

she took something from me

a piece of myself

I left the scene, feeing irritated and resigned

stepping back, though,

she wasn’t malicious

she might not even have known

but something was taken from me, regardless of intent

stepping back a bit further…

maybe it didn’t really belong to me in the first place

if understanding is forgiveness, then I forgive

and then another scene…

I am morose, feelings remaining from the first dream...

I’m sitting, curled up, alone

an old one-time friend comes by

dressed cheerfully

and asks if I am ok

this old friend, now deceased

had also taken something from me

she, too, most likely didn’t mean harm

though I was indeed hurt by her

stepping back a bit from her

I do know she was an authoritative spirit

not taken to compassion and patience

having had to take strong actions in her own past

stepping forward back into the dream...

when she asked if I was ok

I wanted to talk to her

unwind the past, 

start over with understanding,

both of us becoming real friends with each other

but it seemed so complicated

so I remained silent and the dream ended

taking a step backward

and also two steps forward…

it was indeed complicated

and perhaps it wasn’t the right time

but at least she reached out to me

in my dream, in my heart

and someday we’ll indeed unravel the complexities

if they even matter in that future someday

my understanding of these two scenes could fill a book

but as it is, it’s one page in the book I’m writing

and that will have to do

 

and with my love

i walked along a cement path

as wide as a sidewalk

two stories high

and with no guard rails

I stepped slightly aside

to let another walker pass

and I fell

but managed to hang on to the edge

with my fingertips

I looked down

and knew if I let go and fell

I would probably die

or at least break all my bones

as I slid along on my fingertips

monkey bar style

I looked for a protuberance

where I could possibly hoist myself up

there was none

I woke up

what manner of dream was this?

for two or three days it kept intruding on my thoughts

and I kept wondering

and then, finally

my heart heard a voice…

“I waited see if you would continue to look at this dream,

and you have

and I am pleased.

i was there to keep you from falling to your death.

I guided your hands to grab the side of this treacherous walkway.

Know this:

I will always be with you

I will catch you when you fall

or I will heal you if you do fall

or if you do not heal, I will hold you gently

and carry you home

you will never be alone

you have never been alone

I am with you now

reaching out to hold your hand

so take my hand

and live your life

with courage, with joy, with wonder

and with my love"

not sure which...

She's singing the high notes...
or maybe screaming...
sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.
But for sure she's not whispering!

singing tree

 Stand quietly close to the tree

and you may hear it sing

and perhaps even harmonize with itself

our journey is not a straight line

sunshine and shadow

light and dark

they fit so perfectly together

the interface is where the path is drawn

where our lives are lived

little gifts

sunrise to sunset

creation

God’s creation

presented to me to work with

and enjoy

so

at the end of the day

I should shrug my shoulders

and think it was a bit of blah?

that’s not very respectful

it would be a lack of gratitude, perhaps

I will look at it again

and find the little gems and remembrances

waking from a restful night’s sleep

that’s not nothing

seven laps at the center

one mile walking with my honey

and I’m so glad he can walk again

lunch at the center

with a bunch of old farts

and they were old farts, at least on the surface

but maybe we were, too

so there’s that…

a pinch of humor, another pinch of gratitude

and a bit of gentle humility

because, you know, that old fart thing…

evening conversation with my friend

we wander around the universe

both external and internal

finding paths we never knew existed

and soon, now, to bed

sleeping next to my honey

for fifty six years, now

sleeping, snoring,

dreaming, loving.

thank you God

or Goddess

or unfathomable mystery

or giver of gifts

missing words

 Where did all my words go? There are few writing words in my brain and heart these last few days. Many people have encouraged me to write. Not only that, I LIKE to write. But a painter can't paint if she doesn't have paint, and I can't write if I don't have words. So in this moment I'm writing about...not writing. 

Maybe my writing muse took a hike down a hill. 

the blues, the dark, the light

I had the blues.

Why did that happen?

After moping around for a bit, I remembered some sacred words…

go into the dark until you find the light.

and so I did. 

As soon as I identified when the blues began,

I heard the voices of old ghosts

trying to say that what once hurt my spirit

was still hurting my spirit.

So I spoke the hurt aloud to my husband;

we talked a bit about it

and the old ghosts retreated.

A voice suggested I reclaim my power.

and  I did.

i went into the dark.

I faced the ghosts.

I gave audience to my old hurt.

And now, in the light, my power has returned.

Santa

 

Mr. C., sitting in the sun, enjoying retirement. He told me he got tired of being the messenger boy for consumerism...

it got found

I didn’t die today.

I didn’t even almost die today.

Why?

Because I didn’t get pneumonia.

Why would I have gotten pneumonia?

Because I didn’t walk in the rain and get soaked.

Why didn’t I walk in the rain?

Well, not because I paid attention to the weather,

but I was going to walk, and didn’t.

(and it did rain a bit when I would have been walking)

Why not?

Because I couldn’t find my driver’s license,

and I won’t drive without it

and I had planned to walk at the park about five miles away.

For a couple of hours I spun around the house, 

looking at all the possible places I might have been 

when my license wasn’t in my wallet. 

I even took a flashlight and looked under the car seats.

You know…just in case…

But it wasn’t to be found.

I got all the information and documents together

that I’d need to get a replacement

and had to think about maybe filing a police report for a stolen card

you know…just in case…

But then George came home.

He’s a stubborn stickler for detail

and he looked in all the places I looked

and one more that I forgot about

and there it was. 

Fifty six and a half years ago we married

just so I wouldn’t die of pneumonia today.

Thanks be to George!

that day will come

i woke up to the sound and feeling of my heart thumping and racing.  What caused it? i have no idea. Not a bad dream, no stress, no late night eating, just…my heart getting a bit more exercise than I’d like in the middle of the night. I just wish I could relax and go back to sleep, but that doesn’t happen. Stress may not have caused it, but I certainly felt stress when it happened. Because I’m getting old. Because I have been diagnosed with afib. Because I don’t know when I”m gong to die. 

And that’s really it, I guess. Intellectually, I know my time could be any time…tonight, next year, twenty years from now.  But emotionally? Nope. Not ready. Life is wonderfully good right now and I don’t want to say goodbye to my husband, my family, my art, my books. 

As I think back, I think I knew it wasn’t a serious problem at that moment. it probably wasn’t more troublesome than the late night music from a neighbor on a summer night when our bedroom windows were open. But it was a reminder, I guess, that life itself is terminal, and someday I’ll have to say goodbye, and chances are I’ll leave behind some unfinished art, or a book partially read. There may even be dishes in the sink, dust bunnies under the bed, clothes in the washer or dryer. 

When mom was living with us, she had a poster that said ‘getting old is not for sissies’. 

comfort hears my plea across the boundary between awake and asleep

Are you getting tired of reading about my dreams?

I’m not tired of dreaming,

nor am I tired of writing about them.

Last night I had an afib event, which is unnerving. It lasted about half an hour, and no matter what I tried to do, nothing worked. The heart has a mind of its own, I guess. it ended, and if only I could have just gone back to sleep…but the rest of the night was a bit tense. 

I apparently did get some sleep, because here’s the dream!

Not much is going on, but my neighbor brings me treats from the bakery, and a young boy helps me arrange my legs so I could comfortably go to sleep. That’s all. i get it. I wanted, and possibly needed comfort, and I got it. 

no explanation needed

scene 1: An unknown person and me, conversation not remembered.

scene 2; The unknown person, a strong, Greek god kind of physique, dressed in farmer overalls, is directing an orchestra. Occasionally he would break from directing, face the audience, and sing with an operatic voice. At the end of the performance, he walks out into the audience, which is where I am.

scene 3: I wonder if he will remember me from the first scene. He walks by me on the way to elsewhere, but taps me on the shoulder. As he taps me, i hear a voice saying I’m an idealist with project ideas, but I don’t have the intellect and energy to bring them to fruition. I’m not upset; it was just a statement of fact.

scene 4: The unknown musician and I are in a sacred embrace, somewhere out in the universe with a sense of eternity.

I suppose I could examine this dream, take it apart, and analyze it. But no. There is a sense of art to it. It is enough that it appeared and spoke wordlessly to me. 

a clean sheet of paper

the first of December 

a clean sheet of paper

waiting expectantly

what shall i write?

what new story will evolve?

what new art will be born?

what treasures will I find on the path that begins with this new day?

who will I meet?

or maybe there will be other kinds of surprises

maybe a phone call

maybe a symptom

maybe something

maybe nothing

maybe the first of December

will just wither into the second of December

with nothing to celebrate or remember or mourn

I don’t know

but somehow that’s the magic…not knowing

stepping out onto a new path

without knowing where it will lead

knowing only that I don’t know

well, that’s the magic

that births the courage to step out

and grab that clean sheet of paper

and write from my heart

the book isn't finished

 

if life is a book...

today is a new chapter

and I didn’t even turn the page

my friend has survived and is healing from pneumonia

my shoulder is healing with physical therapy

the weather is finally turning predictably cold

and today the sun is shining brightly

my book has been submitted to my in-house editor

and I got two requests for alterations

the day is only half over

so i don’t know how this chapter will end

 

 

the black maze

She wandered about a quiet museum with nobody else in sight. She encountered a door, which, when she first saw it, it seemed to call out to her. In her curiosity, she opened that door, and was quietly compelled to enter the darkness. The door closed behind her, and she understood that she was in a pitch black maze. Her eyes were of no use. Her challenge was to get through the maze by feeling along the walls, and, if necessary, by memory. There were dangerous side passages to be avoided. And so she began her quest to get to the other end. She was uncomfortable, but alert and not quite afraid. The journey was tedious, with fear and despair hovering about, though not able to get into her heart. Eventually she found the second door, the end of the maze, and when she opened it, she was back in daylight. After looking around for a bit, she knew she had to return to the maze in order to journey back to her own world. it wasn’t easy to remember all the passages and turns necessary; in fact, she was only able to recollect each step as she took it this second time, almost like a faith in her own ability to get it right. That faith didn’t give her the whole map ahead of time; it only gave her one step at a time. She eventually returned to her own world, unharmed and relieved. 

Days, months, years passed as she lived her life. occasionally the maze would reappear, and she had to enter the darkness and travel through the maze just like the first time. Sometimes the door to the maze led her underground, sometimes though a mountain, sometimes in a normal family member’s house. She always managed. 

The dream; not a nightmare, but a recurring uncomfortable message that I’m only now beginning to understand. As my shaman friend says, “go into the dark until you find the light”. 

Maybe, if I dream it again,  I'll have a flashlight. I don't know if that's even a good idea... 

the best dream ever

The best of all dreams? 

Maybe a lucid dream where you fly to God and have a face to face conversation? 

Maybe?

Well, that didn’t happen, but Jean Luc Picard was in my dream, and talked to me, and that might be second best…

Here’s what happened…

The setting: a small group of people are interacting for the first time with some galactic aliens.

A boy sees a typical green large eyed alien, is afraid, and hides.

I notice that, of course (because it’s my dream, after all).

I  morph myself into a similar alien, saunter over to where the boy is hiding, and start a conversation. I tell him there’s nothing to be afraid of, I want us to be friends.

The boy emerges from his hiding place, we walk together arm in arm as he asks me questions, one of which is what kind of food do I eat (I think the boy was hoping I…the temporary alien…was a vegetarian) I assured him i was.

The scene fades.

Picard calls me over. he relates what the boy’s mother said to him…that pat denino has AUTHORITY! The mother wants to learn what i know, and tells Picard i could teach or lead. Picard and I are surrounded by group of people listening respectfully.

My feelings: i knew the mother was right, but i was also humbled by that same understanding.

It was quite interesting, and when I awoke, I stayed with that dream for at least half an hour, looking at it, touching it, thinking about it. The dream presentation was lighthearted, but the underlying theme does indeed humble me even while I understand and accept the truth within it.

On the other hand, maybe the truth is that I'm actually an alien.