angelbirdflies

I don't believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive. -- Joseph Campbell

 Shane turns 42 and Owen turns 11 Happy Birthday Boys!

A thousand voices a thousand more, calling out a thousand doors. This one certain, that one fearing this one martyrs, that one shames. Voices in Gethsemane, calling, garden agony, on knees falling. Listen for a single test... Silence sounding, a song of rest. Parched lips thirsty, water taken. deeply asking "Hast thou forsaken?" Three days float in darkened tomb, Christ arises from earthen womb. Lift and raise the truth within me. remove the stones and set it free. Single song within resounding. "I Am I" Christ's own song sounding.

It is Pesach (passover) and as the goya amidst a partially Jewish family, I have been thinking deeply about Mitzrayim (the Hebrew word for Egypt) and Exodus.  I struggle with biblical readings. I, like Jacob wrestling with the angel, want the deeper meaning, my real name, catharsis.  Without this deeper resonance, dogma is dust in my mouth, offering little nourishment amidst the matzoh and wine.  So I study.  I read.  I reflect.  It is the path of a mama who adores all traditions, not for the tradition itself but for the deeper calling echoed within it.  The call of consciousness longing for itself. Mitzrayim actually translates into "a place of constriction".  AHA! Now that is something I can relate to.  Constriction.  The bud wrapped, before the bloom.  The caterpillar tight in chrysalis...bound. What is it in us that rebels against constriction on one hand and is lulled by its known security on the other.  Nature doesn't r...

I saw this painting at the art museum in Chicago, amidst hundreds of other marvels.  I am always impressed by the impressionists and pre-post-and pseudo impressionists.  I am in love with light and the portrayal of illumination.  It draws me into its depicted warmth and suddenly even the subject is secondary to the experience of luminosity.  I appreciate this same quality in photography, enthralled by radiance and captured brilliance.  At times like these, I remember my years at the University of San Francisco through the remembered fog of youth.  I do recall, however dimly, a biological psychology lecture in which the professor talked about the visual/auditory-wave theory, which suggests the world "out there" doesn't exist in the way we imagine.  In fact, it postulates that the world is an array of "waves"(think auditory waves and light waves) which are interpreted by the brain into "meaningful data".  If that is true than we are constructin...

One of the things that continues to inspire and confound me in life is perspective.  We take so many things for granted, assuming that our given vantage is correct, real and true and yet from a slightly different angle something seen one way..  can be something all together different. A corn feild  becomes a mass of texture...  And a may apple,  becomes a giant A cloudy sky looking up,  becomes a viewer when the perspective shifts. Yet, in our presumption we believe in the singularity of our vantage point without pausing to explore the infinite angles and possibilities inherent in every moment.  Wouldn't it be interesting to adopt a "what if" approach to life, softening our gaze and relaxing the narrowness of concept and belief to allow for a glimmer of the mystery of it all. 

A trip to Aunt Bertie's is like stepping into a fairy tale, complete with a musty old farm house and a magical godmother whose lilting spirit seems to remedy all that ales you with the wave of her hand and a prayerful ditty. In the past year her eyesight has dimmed.  She is blind in one eye and the other sees through a hazy  "white out".  She hears only when the speaker is shouting and laughs, saying "Eh?", with full appreciation of her joke.   She struggles to walk now, tottering slowly from one chair to the next, all the while affirming in her sing-song voice, "I am walking upright and with confidence"or  "I give thanks for my perfect sight and hearing, my limitless strength and energy, and my perfect health".   She smiles often. When I first arrived she said that she hadn't really played the piano in months but soon she was seated on her familiar bench pounding out songs with gusto, groaning at her missed notes and smiling brightly whi...

Where oh where have I been? Well first things first, I began Spring Break in Chicago for an AMS conference and Reggio/Montessori presentation with a few of my co-workers (I didn't even vomit while presenting which was a miracle in itself).  It was a fabulous trip- cold, blustery, disorienting and beautiful.  These are a few of my gal pals and coworkers posing smartly...  Next, a few shots of cityscapes...  And a trip to the Art Institute...  by way of the bean...  and a fabulous supper at Studio 110, a friendly little french bistro near our hotel on the Magnificent Mile.  All in all a fun trip...or beginning of a trip...next stop Olney and Farmhome.

Without the body and the mind, the trees couldn't see themselves. Usually we think that we are looking at a tree, but the tree is looking at itself through us. Without this instrument, the tree doesn't get to see itself. We are sensing instruments of the Divine. ~  Adyashanti  

Thirty-seven (and a nod to my big brother who is thirty-nine today).  Time is such a strange thing, it ticks and tocks with abandon and the form dances to its rhythm with frenetic urgency. The essential Self remains unchanged, watching with an openness that astonishes.

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture. Still treat each guest honorably, He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. - Rumi

 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 ...