Archive for the ‘adventure’ Category

Apa Sherpa, 21 times summited Mt. Everest

Apa Sherpa, 21 times summited Mt. Everest

The other day I had the incredible great good fortune to meet Apa Sherpa. He was the guest of one of our friends here in St. Augustine, FL where we live. Ordinarily you would only hear about this remarkable individual if you were in Mt. Everest-climbing mode. But I, afraid of heights (my biggest phobia, that’s the truth!) met him at a casual potluck dinner in the flattest place of all — right next to the sea, here in my own lovely hometown.

Apa is the most humble, good-humored and enthusiastic person, one who shines his passion for what he’s done his entire life — facilitating others to achieve their goal of climbing the world’s highest mountain, the formidable Mount Everest. Apa has climbed it a world-record 21 times to the summit. Like all his fellow sherpas, all practicing Buddhists from Nepal, Apa carried a photo of the Dalai Lama to leave atop the summit, in esteemed honor of his spiritual leader, the exiled Tibetan lama.

You can find out all about my fine new friend on his site ApaSherpa.com and see/read about his many adventures. Most remarkable about him though, is that he has made the tough decision to give up summit-trekking, because his wife asked him to. Last year too many sherpas (all members of his native ethnic group share the same last name, Sherpa) were killed making the summit. His wife said, “Enough’s enough,” and Apa had to hang up his climbing spurs.

Apa wanted to be a doctor when he was a kid, but when his dad died at an early age young-teenage Apa had to go to work to support his family, and at the time the only source of livelihood for sherpas was — being “a sherpa,” a term that has become synonymous with someone who carries the load for someone else. Apa has made the summit more times than anyone EVER, alive or dead, and has helped with many rescues of stranded climbers, even the sad job of retrieving already dead bodies of others, oftentimes his climbing buddies who tragically didn’t make it. This a highly dangerous line of work, my friends. Hardly any little kid grows up wanting to be a sherpa.

Apa’s life has been devoted to service. His smile betrays only the joy, the passion, and the complete satisfaction of his life. We should all be so lucky to exhibit such peace as he exudes, and maybe we will, but most of us only feel that after we’ve achieved our goals.

Apa has a new goal, now that his climbing days are over. He’s raising money for his fellow sherpas for education and other life essentials. Perhaps you could donate a few dollars to Apa’s Fund, which you’ll find on his website (again, ApaSherpa.com) that he funnels directly to help his fellow sherpas back in Nepal, to help them have more choices about their livelihood than he had when he was young. Today Apa works in Salt Lake City for an American manufacturer whom Apa met when he was climbing Mt. Everest some years back. This American got to help Apa fulfill another of his goals — to live in a place, America, where his children could one day go to college. A documentary is being filmed about Apa and I’m sure you’ll hear more about him in the near future.

When I told Apa about my one big fear in life, heights, he just laughed and said, “Come on! Try it! You’ll like it!” as if offering me a new flavor ice cream cone.

“What??!! Apa, are you talking about climbing Mt. Everest, the highest mountain in the entire world, the most dangerous thing a person could ever do, besides fly a plane upside down at 200 mph, or walking out on the wings while doing so (even harder)?”

“Sure,” Apa grinned his infectious smile, “Try it! Come on! You’ll love it!”

I had to laugh. The idea of me climbing anything higher than the highest hill in Florida (about thirty feet) is ludicrous!

Dreams do come true if we work for them, though, I know that! But I think I’ll stick to getting my already-written books in print first, and then maybe think about an Everest summit in between. We can’t do everything, now can we? I feel like my life has been mostly about climbing my INNER Mt. Everest. I don’t feel I’ve missed out on any excitement, either by not climbing the real deal. Which, by the way, in case you never thought about it, is as high as what jet airliners generally cruise at for long distances: 36,000 feet!

in the Light,

Lordflea (aka teZa Lord)

the marvel of Nature

the marvel of Nature

We are the Tunnel, mixed media, 54“x42”We were walking along the edge of his Florida pasture one day, Bill, my father-in-law and I, taking advantage of another opportunity to talk about life and share each other’s company. I surprised myself that day when, after a young and rambunctious bull hopped the fence right in front of us, I instinctively approached it, not so much from bravery as an automatic reflex. Bill was already in his eighties and I, a mere forty-year-old then, wanted to protect the enfeebled old man, whom I was uncommonly fond of, and would have taken a bullet for, if truth were known.

“Watch out,” Bill said in his droll manner, cautioning me, alert to the unpredictable ways of livestock, especially a young upstart like this rowdy yearling-bull. “He’ll butt you hard if you don’t watch out.”

Wouldn’t you know just as Bill said this, the young bull charged me. But I, propelled by guardian mode, met the chest-high head of cowhide over steel with a double whammy fist right in the middle of the young animal’s eyes. Dazed almost as much as I, the bull shook his head and jumped right back over the fence, joining his four-legged family who stood bedazzled by the young daredevil’s adventure.

~

From the moment we met I loved Bill. I knew I wanted to marry his son the instant I heard Bill say to his elegant wife, “I must be in heaven, I thought I saw an angel,” when my future mother-in-law waltzed into the room to greet me that day. And it wasn’t he who objected to my bare feet, like she did, nor the fact that I was an artist and an adventurer of sorts. He wasn’t dubious about my mothering skills either, when it came down to whether I had what it takes to raise Carter’s two youngsters he had full custody of after a vicious divorce. This was a blended family we were a-brewing, creating a new dream of different backgrounds and faiths, cultural influences, even politics.

~

Grampa Bill, after his angel passed on, wasn’t one to let dust settle. Within nine months, at eighty-seven he married an acquaintance, a woman everybody hoped would be a great companion for his golden years. Sadly, she turned out to be an alcoholic and within five years the old man was not only divorced, but taken closer to the poor house by her shiftiness. Instead of finding another angel, Bill had been cornered by a succubus.

I sat with him as he sorted that one out. The trauma sent his mind to the farthest regions of awareness as he dove into the haze of senility.

In the numb twilight of Bill’s recovering from spousal abuse, he awoke one day to feel terribly sad, upset about our son’s debilitating football accident that would leave the seventeen year-old permanently handicapped.

“The worse thing that’s ever happened to our family,” the old man moaned loudly.

He wept that day I sat beside him, quietly talking of our son’s recent injury. Bill then reached into his pocket to grab what he thought was his linen handkerchief, always there. He didn’t realize it, and I said nothing to upset him further, but instead of the hanky he dabbed his flowing tears with a soft, used one-dollar bill.

I remembered hearing one of his daughters insist to the caretaker that he always had to have one in his pocket. “So daddy has some money and still feels he has some control over his life; just a token to help his self esteem,” she’d instructed.

~

Now, nearing ninety-nine, Bill was waiting for me as I caught the next plane from out west where Carter and I had gone camping. Bill knew – somehow, even at that final stage of the bumpy ride, filled with both joys and ravages that life brings us all – exactly who he wanted at his bedside. Of his four grown children and their spouses, I was the only in-law requested to be present. That’s because Bill was always more to me than just my husband’s dad.

Carter and I had driven out west on a month’s-long celebratory camping jaunt in honor of having successfully raised our kids. The minute the youngest joined his sister, safe and secure in college, we took off cross-country, driving to a new campsite every night, bicycling everywhere we could, cooking delicious food on wood campfires right outside our roomy tent. We were in Montana riding our bikes on the golden hills of the plains where the buffalo used to roam so abundantly, with the endless and eponymous Big Sky above, when we received word that our own old buffalo chief, Bill was on his death bed.

~

Three days before, Carter and I had ridden our bikes around southwestern South Dakota at Wounded Knee, close to the Lakota Indian Reservation. We were infatuated by the landscape, as foreign to us as if we’d landed on Mars. I leaned my bike against a rock and wandered away on foot from where Carter was intently observing a small animal or chasing some reptile between the hilly mounds and scrubby brush of that arid place.

A few quick strides and I came upon a jaw-dropping sight: an old grey buffalo, lying peacefully in a patch of sunlight. He must have gone off by himself, too, and was enjoying the last of the day’s fading sun. He paid me no attention as I came within ten yards of him and stayed that distance, half hidden by a hilly outcrop. I stood watching, fascinated to get so close to so magnificent a wild beast. He blinked and gazed toward me. I froze and met his eyes. He lifted his massive head back to catch the sun’s warmth, and serenely closed his lids, accepting my closeness.

He was at total rest, as if waiting, willing to embrace the inevitable shadow of the day’s end that was quickly approaching. I couldn’t help but think he might be getting close to pulling his last breath, by how resigned yet expectant he appeared. Immediately I thought of Bill, back home, and how he too, might be savoring his last moments in the gentle sun of life. The buffalo’s strong neck held his proud head high, feeling every morsel of warmth, absorbing it, yet at the same time he seemed to be honoring the disappearance of the bright disk above.

At my respectful distance I stood stick still, fascinated by such regality and noble strength that even in old age, was evidence of this huge animal having been a great leader in his day. As I watched the old buffalo I sensed he was preparing to die. What else could explain how this giant old rogue, now so feeble, so incapable, couldn’t keep up with the rest of his herd? Or why he had found this sunny, isolated spot to nestle in, between craggy rocks, so well hidden that Carter and I hadn’t noticed him when we approached the area earlier on our bikes.

While watching the old bull, his wet and flaring snout held high, his eyes occasionally roaming the horizon – totally aware of me – I saw how solemnly, how bravely he faced the last strong rays of the resting sun. Again, I thought of Bill, our family’s Grampa, and wondered if this ancient bison – not in distress but oblivious, and ready to leave behind that which no longer served his noble pursuits – was a sign that our own family’s chief, back home, was soon to leave his earthly body.

A few days later, in Montana then, we received the call.

Bill waited for Carter to arrive first, and then for me to come the next day, because there was only one seat out of Missoula the day we got the expected news. When Bill saw I had made it, he right away sat up in bed, agile as a trapeze artist, and said, “Oh, you’re here!” and immediately fell back down. Within an hour he lapsed into the in-between shadows of not-here, not-there of his approaching, last sunset.

~

Our kids were away in college as their Grampa rested in these waning hours of his life’s shine, while Carter, his brother and sisters and I gathered around our family’s old bull, being present for the head of our family’s comfort and ease in this, his glorious and final passage.

I wouldn’t have missed this most important event in Bill’s life, his last rite of passage, just as momentous as his earlier ones must have been. His four children and I stood around his bed, we who loved him so, witnessing Bill’s last breath as we joined hands around our favorite old bull, saying prayers, whispering comforts, saying our good-byes, offering heart-quaking thank yous.

Moments after, there was only stillness from Bill’s suddenly empty form, lying nobly and chief-like, surrounded by his tribe.

~

Later, alone with the love of my life, the man who shared his father’s great capacity to nurture, to love, I asked Carter in a small voice, “Why do you think Bill wanted me here?”

My own father, with whom I’d had a strained relationship, died twenty years before with me by his side also. Since marrying Carter, Bill had become my surrogate father, my pal, a role model for parenting: an unmatched spiritual mentor. He filled in the chinks of my broken faith in paternal strength, making up for all the misunderstandings and shortcomings of my own father, a troubled man. I could talk to Bill in private about my dreams, and he’d help me understand myself better. His wisdom affirmed how the subconscious affects us all so deeply. Dreams, you see, were Bill’s passion, and while he was a successful businessman, he was also an expert dream interpreter. He encouraged everyone he met to follow their dreams.

Now Carter looked at me and said simply, “Because dad loves you, teZa.”

My heart grew like a balloon pushing against my chest, realizing I was included in this inner circle not by chance, but by life’s many choices that had led us all together.

dear friend,

 here is an excerpt from “More Than Dust,” the book i’m writing. enjoy!

brunfelsia, "yesterday, today, and tomorrow"

brunfelsia, "yesterday, today, and tomorrow"

 

Timote and I traveled to Jamaica, our trip funded by a grant to discover a feared-extinct medicinal plant that researchers desperately needed, for a possible cancer-killing alkaloid they’d isolated from an old specimen, in a lab. Tim and I arrived in the blue-green island and drove to a mountainous region, a tiny hamlet called Bamboo. From there we made day trips all over the region, scouring the land around the site of the last known sighting of Brunfelsia Americana. In the 40s specimens had been collected from there, and none from any other location on earth ever since. Because of botanical information-gathering sources, called herbariums, dried and pickled specimens of every plant gathered by botanists are available for research, and that is how the cancer-experts discovered a near-magical ingredient found only in this particular species, that Tim and I were now hunting for.

Brunfelsia americana...the near-extinct species

Brunfelsia americana...the near-extinct species

Extreme strip mining, for the mineral bauxite, had changed the lay of the land in that part of Jamaica, drastically affecting the natural plantings. Still, Timote was not discouraged, because as we talked to native people we found that some old-timers remembered seeing the plant, called by various local, patois names. After a week of bush whacking our way through one red-herring lead after the next, we climbed an isolated plateau of land we were directed to, in a hidden valley, of sorts, a place where one small bit of land rose above the desolation below like a living altar, which had miraculously survived decades of destructive bulldozing by bauxite miners. We were elated to find one lone stand of this rare species of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, brunfelsia’s common name, and even more thrilled to find seeds and seedlings among the shriveled, deformed, last remaining group, anywhere, of this precious plant.

Live and love and laugh a lot, today and everyday,

we are All One on planet Earth

moon flower: plants, minerals, humanity: we are All One on planet Earth

your pal, lordflea

excuse me while i chuckle.

just got an email from my friend terry, who has just moved to moloki, hawaii, to caretake a 2,000 acre health/wellness/meditation complex with her hub, om-tom. she was writing me how hard it is, how things are just not running right, equipment breaking down, computer stolen when they went in a rented car to the main island–oh, what else, oh yeah, the makeshift computer doesn’t work, and on top of that, there’s no phone reception.

life is rough.

my partner is having a hard time, too–life is challenging these days. it seems to me we’re having not just an economic crisis, but a spiritual one as well. here’s one way of looking at it, a la art:

keeping mind-ful in the midst of hell

keeping mind-ful in the midst of hell

after a decade of living on islands in the “third-world” i can empathize  with you, terry, perhaps more than others…and know that you are just living the life that happens, when you’re not on “the continent.” it’s just the way it is on islands. but the “pros” you will experience, and have, and continue to, will FAR outway the “cons”… believe me. living separate from “all that is” is sooooo spiritually fulfilling, and fun! just write me whenever you get down, and i’ll jump up and dance with you, my friend, and share with you my experience of developing patience, tolerance, and … quite a snotty attitude, actually, that “i’ve learned to do better” than ordinary continentals, as we call them. Because once you get used to adversity being the way it is, always! and learn to adapt to “what is,” … a person changes. we become so much more an “in the flow” kind of person. and that’s really where the Self resides. being in constant contact with true Inner Peace takes hard work. but the rewards? living a good life, even in the midst of unprecedented adversity.
 
who needs things to flow smoothly all the time? that’s so…predictable! ha ha! look at me, miss positive. but i’m not there, where you are, terry, right? but … if i wasn’t here, taking care of mom, you bet that’s where i’d be. i can’t wait to pack my bags and leave “ever-reliable, oh so abundantly efficient” america (or any continental place)…and go to live with the simpler, more “don’t care” kind of folks—the islanders.
 
sorry about losing your mac, though. that’s a bummer. we get spoiled, don’t we? i still use a dinosaur p.c., but i’m happy.

here’s a little cheer-up for my pals terry and om-tom out there in molokai. when life gets tough, when our nerves start to shout! ouch! here’s one solution—retreat into your ever-abundant imagination…yes, just float away in a story. even if you haven’t got bread to eat, you still have your imagination and you that can fill a person right up to the top!

this character sitting in the middle is my good pal Cleozed. he’s a composite, as you can see: man, plant, fish, and –what else?

Cleozed and Hummin'womb-an

Cleozed and Hummin

walk in the unlimited-ness of your being…expand your possibilities, and come fly with me! how, you ask? just breathe…long breath in…long breath out…ahhhhhh-men, and ahhhhhhh-women, too!

in the Light, lord flea

hi friends,

no matter how each of us votes today, i pray Great Spirit will guide the best choice (along with each and every one of us…all a part of Great Spirit, too!) to make the best candidate win the necessary votes.

politics on turtle island

politics on turtle island

who am i voting for? well, that’s an interesting question. but fortunately for YOU this is not a political discussion, here on lordflea’s blog. so…i’ll save that for my book. have a joyous day, and please VOTE!!! your choice should be heard now…because whomever is chosen, and i mean WHO-EVER!!! let’s come together as a nation, as a family of humanity, and heal. let’s stop the whining, the blaming, and the anger, and let’s get busy and heal ourselves.

in the Light, lord flea singing the song of Turtle Island politics,

“politics is poison,” says my hopi friend, Bucky. “nah,” says i, “it just be a dance, and you must move in it to feel the beat.”

VOTE!!! anyone who doesn’t vote is … well, this isn’t a political blog, remember? yahhhhhhh. ahhhhh-men, and ahhhhhhh-women too!

hello friend,

i’ve been sailing and motoring the inways, byways and channels around st. augustine this week!  in between nursing others in my family, and attending to bizness as usual, i had to do something to blow out the steam, and … sailing, being on the water, is one of my passions, as well as laughing, dancing, being with great groovy people, traveling, learning new things, writing stories and making art. whew! so many passions.

st. augustine lighthouse seen from the Ace Lady, a friend's sailboat

st. augustine lighthouse seen from sailboat Ace Lady

my passions are many.  some have more.  some…only politics, it seems these days.  whatever yours are, i hope you enjoy pursuing them.  and if you haven’t, or haven’t made time to pursue them, i urge you to do that … like now!

take the owner of Ace Lady, for instance:

Captain Priscilla of Ace Lady at the helm

Captain Priscilla of Ace Lady at the helm

Priscilla is a single woman, an expert solo sailor, self confident and extremely capable, who is following her dream.  priscilla puts everything she has into making sure that dream of hers comes true: owning and operating a sturdy, ocean-going sailboat.  it’s not easy, what priscilla is doing, because the maintenance alone (not to mention the sailing) of such a vessel is … well, beyond comprehension to most landlubbers, such as we.  but priscilla finds the time (in between a successful massage therapy business) to maintain her boat, sail it near and far, chartering it out as much as possible (see www.aceladysails.com for more info).  i greatly admire people like priscilla.  they defy the odds, and make sure their dreams become reality.  bravo priscilla!!

this anchored boat, with its mast under repair, represents another sailor’s passion: as demonstrated by the bedazzling woodworking you see everywhere onboard, representing hundreds of hours of labor-intensive savvy!

every scrap of wood is passionately cared for

every scrap of wood is passionately cared for

even this boat owner’s dingys are exquisitely varnished.  he was down below, no doubt, sanding or applying his loving craft to another woody surface, whistling, happy.  following his passion.

and you?  what’s your passion?  are you at least thinking of how you’ll be able to honor that passion today?  even if, like myself, some days you just can’t.  but no matter how stresed or strained we are, at least we can plan on how our passions will evolve some other day, if we’re busy with other things.  because, as we all know, the unfolding of our realities all start with the thoughts we hold continuously in our minds.

as for my passions:  this week i’ve had to put my love (honestly, it’s an out-and-out obsession) of writing and arting to one side to make space to care-take my mom (still recovering from her T.I.A.), and also husband Carter, who didn’t do what i did when i felt “the bug” invade my body last week (we both got it).  i rested, he didn’t.  i’m not as sick, he’s dog-dead-in-the-ditch sick.  i chose to not do as much and he’s paying the price, poor baby (guys! what is it about guys?!).  for a few days i had to put my passions on hold, to heal myself.  and here i am now, nurse lordflea, nursing others, making sure mom takes her meds; making chamomile tea with honey and lemon in the middle of the night for carter, and yesterday,  a big pot of chicken soup bubbling on the stove, with lots of homeopathic remedies at the bedside of the sick co-captain of our ship, called relation.  for the moment at least, my passion for arting (which most definitely includes writing) is put aside for the good of the bigger picture.

but…my passion of being one with the Divine…is never put on hold.  THAT i can do, whether i’m busy, sick, traveling, or involved with others’ passions, projects, or peculiar personalities:

Sufi Bird...flying as high as he can, as i try

Sufi Bird...flying as high as he can, as i try

here’s another shot of the gorgeous st. augustine lighthouse, which has always been one of my passions in life, and also, in my art:

the lighthouse, in reality

the lighthouse, in reality

and here you can see how my passion evokes another way of “seeing” st. augustine’s lighthouse:

Buddha's Foot; from the lighthouse series

Buddha's Foot, from the lighthouse series

in this series, i take the st. augustine lighthouse, which has always been a personal icon of mine, representing a tower of strength and courage, and use it here to remind me to follow my passion, to do whatever i have to do to take my journey of searching for Truth to the next level.  i use the lighthouse along with other universal, recognizable archetypes (painted in the small squares, surrounded by the matrix of space, time, and matter) as focus.  these paintins are reminders, meant to evoke humankind’s aspiring to a greater good (this is MY political activism, folks!).  just as we awake from a profound, prescient dream and only remember an image, a fragment of it here and there throughout the day, i attempt to portray in this series the remnants of a very real, very tangible inner remembrace: the images hint of who we really are, and where our spiritual journey (of the entire human race, mean) is taking us.  we run into these reminders, always, but do we stop to notice them?  bits and pieces of startling landscape, a word from a stranger, an angelic message on a bus ad, a glistening majestic river, a long road beckoning us to follow.  this series is about our path.  other places, other states of being-ness yet to explore.  here’s another of my lighthouse series, this one depicting an altogether different landscape. 

Moon Beach

Moon Beach

for years i used to run along st. augustine beach, and watch the lighthouse as it grew steadily more prominent.  i was always eager to see it rising over the sandy, sea oats-strewn dunes.  the closer i came to the lighthouse, the more excited i got.  my body would shiver, my breath felt sharper.  i was sure i felt the same as, and fully understood the significance of being “guided” that desperate sailors out at sea must have felt, whenever they sighted a lighthouse with the surrounding seas rough, the night dark, and the way, treacherous.  that’s my inspiration behind making this series.  i chose the lighthouse as my main motif, along with more recognizable totems of great impact, both spiritual and cultural, to convey a strong a message of hope to others.  this particular lighthouse, the one at st. augustine, has always been a beacon of inner strength in my own life.  here’s another of the series.

Shiva's Dance

Shiva's Dance

today, on blog lordflea, it seems to be: honor the Light Within Day!!  yes, that’s a passion of mine!  maybe you’ll feel the excitement i carry in my heart for the unseen Light we all carry within, by gazing at my lighthouse series.  i hope you enjoy them.  here’s the final in the series, as i wish you adieu, a very groovy day, enjoying whatever passion you happen to be engaged in at this very moment!

love from your pal, lord flea

Ghost Tree

Ghost Tree

Hi Friend,

Just back from Boston where we spent a pleasantly gentile weekend attending a gathering of old college friends. 

bridge to nowhere ... crossing the Charles River

bridge to nowhere ... crossing the Charles River

we got to share stimulating thoughts, discussions, symposiums, dances, exhibits, and most importantly, the sharing of life’s sweet laughter.

as i’d mentioned in an earlier post, i’m starting a new awareness about all of us catching ourselves in our tendencies to over-intellectualize and/or over-politicize, and become, more and more, aware of each opportunity to practice, and finally arrive at BEING … more and more … with practice, with joy, even … being SPIRITUALLY CORRECT

instead of being p.c. i suggest we all try to be, and help each other to remember to be … “S.C.” — spiritually correct.

you may laugh, but once you get the hang of this new movement, you’ll enjoy this carefree, “all for others” attitude, even in midst of the worst financial crisis, the most confusing and challenging of political climes.

take our pal Bob, here, showing off his new tattoo.  bob chose the ancient hebrew phrase honoring “Logos”… the “word” of Spirit … in his humble way of proclaiming his own brand of reminding himself to be spiritually correct.  a former businessman, now an ordained minister, bob has branded his love of Spirit into his very flesh.  i kept calling him “reverand biker bob” but … we just laughed, because surely he is not that.  bob’s tat is his own private reminder of his dedication to this new way of being:

Reverand Bob showing his new "logos" tattoo to Carter

Reverand Bob showing his new "Logos" tattoo

so, for the moment, my journey with you that my blog records, documenting my personal lust for art, nature, and adventure, is taking an inward turn as i report more about my most cherished discovery … that among all things people like to share about, the most important journey of all, and perhaps the most unbelievalbe … is a person’s discovering, and then embracing, the Inner Light within.

being Spiritually Correct, s.c., is to acknowledge this Truth (of Spirit) as not only real — but really important to remember.  to call yourself s.c. is to remind yourSelf to keep a heightened awareness ever at the center of all actions, all thoughts, in the rest of all our daily living, whatever that might entail.  being “spiritual” doesn’t mean just now and then.  being s.c. means to live with awakened recognition that we are all ONE.   being s.c. takes precedent over being any other kind of “correct,” be it social, political, intellectual, environmental, groovy, hip, religious, anti-religious, cultural or quaint, material or non-consuming, or … any other ways of being fashionably or unfashionably human.

try something new — be s.c. 

being s.c. means … letting go and letting Spirit into the scene.

Dive into living In Spirit, being s.c.

Dive into living In Spirit, being s.c.

fly from your restraints and you, too, can learn to fly, In Spirit!  let your own Inner Spirit be one with the knowledge that we are all connected, we are all One.  there is a discernible energy that connects us all.  as Chief Joseph said, “we are all connected, in the web of life.”

right now, everywhere i go and you, too, people are buzzing, ranting, non-sequituring, going off the wall (but not jumping out windows–yet!), being passionate about politics, the financial fiasco, the mess our environment is in.  on everyone’s minds is the need for climate change; we’re desperate for conscious, compassionate leadership.  and so it should be, all of us being passionate — right now — at this election time.  because we all must fight for what we believe in, and that includes stating, even fighting for our choices.  each of us must discern from the political pile the best of what is offered.

but come the evening of november 4th, we must all come together as One, no matter what the results of the u.s. presidential election is.

i won’t go into politics here.  this blog is not about that subject.  my thoughts are about art, nature, the environment, and the more important subjects (hey! it’s MY blog, right!) of finding the universal Truth that hides in the heart of all members of the human race, of all living beings, too.  we are all tiny cells in the body of what some call “God” but … it doesn’t matter what you call “IT.”  IT is a mysterious, mystical, but very real, very tappable energy.  IT is a force that is unseen, yet IT connects us all, in more ways than science has yet to discover, but they are quickly on the trail of pinpointing and proving: cellular knowledge, quantum physics, string theory.  stay tuned: michio kaku will explain it all, in all good time.

the IT of plants is the same as ...

the IT of plants is the same as ...

the IT within all … spiritual energy … a person’s chi, also called the kundalini, qi, tao, Great and Holy Spirit … whatever name we choose to call the Divine … is the only reality there is, the alpha, the omega, and … the Logos:

the Force within i call Noname

the Force within i call Noname

this is not serious, no-fun business i’m talking about here. i hope you realize i am reporting on the absolute certain joyousness i feel in my heart, and soul, based on my own experiences of discovering we are all One, all connected.  if you don’t think this is fun stuff–lighten up!  don’t get me wrong or put me in some box marked “weirdo serioso.”  no sirree.  when i speak of living a life based on being s.c. i’m conveying the choice to embrace an attitude, based on personal experience.  but don’t just scoff.   put this s.c. business into practice for yourself, and see your face light up, the smiles barge into your life, and others! 

a person whose life is based on being s.c. is much more prone to laughing and doing silly things like … being in an elevator with or without friends (as happened this past weekend up in Boston) and, for the hell of it, when the doors close and the strangers stuck with you refuse to look you in the eye, or even crack a smile … gently, mellowly start to Ooooooommmmmmmmmmmm.  you’ll feel the energy change, BIG TIME!!!  boy!  you’ll see, as we did, uptight strangers rush out of an elevator so fast you’re practically knocked down!  we laugh and we laugh, and we continue to Oooommmm in the most unlikely places, with or without friends.  this is all good, all great, all unbelievable loosening action:

BE A SPIRITUAL ACTIVIST … be s.c.

help others rid themselves of stiff, old, doesn’t-work, irrepressibly stuffy and unfun thinking that needs to be unwound from the human collective soul.  

let go let Spirit into your heart, and learn to fly!

let go let Spirit into your heart, and learn to fly!

so come on, i dare you!  do something totally whacked-out remindful of Spirit today, and forget being “proper” or “polite” or “afraid to offend”…. just spread the word, of IT, of God, of Spirit, however you sing that song of bliss, whatever the Name is, whatever IT means to you.  

IT may be nature.

allow yourself to become calm, secure enough, just for today, somewhere a wild bird might easily choose to come and rest upon your head.  sit still, and thoughtful, breathe, become filled with s.c. … in your yard, by your window, on a park bench … in a golden autumn meadow.

just allow yourself to feel the goodness of being in tune with the earth, this glorious earth that we are ever-more-consciously stewards of.  your activism starts with remembering the beating of your heart, of listening to your own breath.  your entire life will feel so much better if you invite your busy mind to just stop — for a little while — and merge with your natural surroundings. become safe enough for a wild bird to trust its life to, to alight upon the top of your head.  feel the tender feet of the bird believing you and IT are indeed, the same.

breathe deeply in, pushing your belly out with the in-breath… breathe gently and long out, contracting your belly with the out-breath.  merge with your breath.  why not?  what have you got to lose?

that is what i mean by being “spirituall correct.”

each of us can sit easily by the river of our lives ... in close connection ... being s.c. by just noticing how we breathe

each of us can sit easily by the river of our lives ... in close connection ... being s.c. by just noticing how we breathe

wishing you all a fun, shimmering, serene day, even in the midst of the most tumultuous firey tempest,

in the Light, lord flea