angelbirdflies

 So Mojo showed up with an art project for dinner at our house.  I had spent the day nursing a migraine in bed and had little motivation for cooking...this was just the antidote.  She arrived with a plate of julienned vegetables and several packages of fresh fish.  Soon Baba was put to work slicing with a precision only Ronaldo can contribute. Next, we prepped the fish in an array of aromatics within a parchment heart.  Here is halibut prepared with minneola orange slices, green onions, fennel and olive oil.  This is dover sole rolled with a mixture of rapini, garlic, lemons, olive oil and salt. Mojo is showing off the sea bass with mojo verde (roasted/peeled poblanos, cumin, cilantro and olive oil), onions, tomatoes, olive oil and salt. Bodhi played the joker and tried his hand decorating the salmon. Mojo added her flair with zucchini, sliced garlic, shallots, onions, red peppers, fennel, lemon, fresh thyme and olive oil with salt. Here is the next ...

So I was asked recently, why I would get up at 5:30 in the morning to go hiking before work.  In answer I have a few pictures:

 The boys got haircuts  and Baba got a little something permanent on his shoulder.

Okay it's official.  I have this new mac and I swear it was designed for the sole purpose of making me feel like an utter and complete moron.  I try to maintain my composure when I can't remember ever making the various passwords each system and program keeps impatiently asking for or when I can't contact anyone with significant savvy without being redirected to online service.  Hello, if I weren't already fumbling with the whole online service I would have no need to wait long minutes in phone ques listening to music I would never otherwise subject my auditory appendages to.  I want to take the screen by the shoulders and shake some sense into its sleek lined, techno touting, imac irritating, software.  Alas, it stares back at me, utterly unfazed by my mounting irritation.  I try to remain calm.  I take deep breaths and yet I can't help feeling like this machine is an intruder, taking up my precious time in insular activities with the promise of so mu...

My dad had a mini stroke yesterday.  He's had them in the past.  He didn't call anyone, but spent the day with his Lori in the hospital, not wanting to "alarm anybody".  It was interesting talking to him.  When I told him that it mattered to me what happens to him, he paused a long time and said, "I guess I don't have a lot of self esteem, I never think I matter that much".  I understood.  Valuing ourselves, our authentic self, is essential to championing life and experiencing the rich tapestry of existing as an individuated expression of that life. His admission reminded me how important it is to matter, not to someone else, but to ourselves. When we matter to ourselves we are willing to act compassionately, with boundaries of steel and unapologetically ask for what we need. The truth is we all matter in ways we cannot begin to imagine.  

Within me there is a pool, deep and blue.  It calls.  Beneath noisy chatter, Echoed within white walls of self. A whispered voice, Wordlessly beckons to its edge.  I approach. Tears flow, A flood without an ark.  Release. Unknot this tight web of "me", stitch by stitch, holding self together.  Fear, Retreat from clear waters To hurried world of "do",  "prove", "achieve", "seek", Isolated in activity, Waxen and cold.  I ache to breathe, Against the armor of "self".  I ache to fall, Without thought of time, Into deep waters, Dissolving in space, Floating on presence,  Breath breathing breath, One.

Last night I went to the Denver Art Museum's world premiere of Stacey Steers ' new film, Night Hunter.  It was an interesting blend of artistic dreamlike images and disturbing sequences.  The film left me with tangible themes drawn from the web of unconscious, alluding to reproduction, loss and fear.  There is an installation in the fusebox, on the fourth floor in the new wing of the museum,  if you are local and interested.  The film consists of over 4000 tiny collages made by the artist over a four year period and each second of footage represents no less then 8 collages.  Now that is dedication.

Whatever you want, be it.. If you want connection, it's because you are connection.Be what you want, and then it happens all around you. If you want love, be it. You'll have more love than you know what to do with. Whatever you are inside, you receive a thousandfold on the outside. - Adyashanti