the LIGHT dissolves darkness

LIGHT

I’ve been anticipating for days now to write about how happy I am that Aung San Suu Kyi has prevailed in Burma/Myanmar, but, dear reader, my heart is bursting with emotion because Paris is wearing the shroud of darkness after the inhumane killings of Friday night. So I shall save my praise for my Burmese hero (I don’t like the word “heroine”) the great Nobel Peace Prize winner, who has clung to the LIght during her many decades of herself, personally as well as her oppressed countrymen and women facing the darkness of oppression. And Aung San Suu Kyi knows perhaps better than anyone alive today that the LIGHT, seeking refuge in the tremendous Force of Spirit — is the answer to all human woes.

the LIGHT within us is the LIGHT of ALL

the LIGHT within us is the LIGHT of ALL

After such a heart-bludgeoning happening as the terrorist attacks in Paris on Friday, November 13th, 2015, many feel shocked, hopeless, depressed and filled with an angry forboding of inevitable doom. Many can’t see the end of this madness and spread of Islamic Terrorism, the inhuman hatred exuding from these extremists, the killers of Free People that currently is plaguing the world. Religious intolerance is the modern day Black Death. Instead of millions dying from a horrendous and quickly spreading illness that strikes and wipes out entire towns, as happened throughout Europe during the Middle Ages — before people discovered germs — today we have the plague of murderous religious extremists who want to kill anyone who doesn’t adhere to their limited view of the world.

I don’t know much, but I do know how the Light within us is the only answer to the Dark. The Inner Light is Love. The Inner Light is Forgiveness. The Light is also, at times, gathering the courage to fight for what must be fought against. And in this case the LIght means not just praying, or sending condolences, but realizing that the next step, after the attack on Paris, is for the world to gather forces and batte the evil that overcomes the world.

I’m sure the political leaders will be discussing this inevitability soon. But here, we are discussing neither politics nor religion. The Light is the awareness we hold within our being, when our spiritual life is awake and aware.

In ancient times, just like today, there was great evil. There always has been and there always will be “Great Evil” roaming the world. This is the nature of earthly existence, at least as we have always known it. Perhaps someday there will be peace throughout the world, but … perhaps not. Nothing will change how humans act except we humans, one by one, changing how we are, individually. How we react to evil, however, has evolved. In ancient times, according to “legend” (which some subscribe to as “scripture” because it was written in texts that became sacred to many) … gods and goddesses arose from our human need to combat evil. Noone wants evil. And that is how religion was born, out of need for answers to combat the evils of the world.

Mythological personages (think Zeus, Thor, Venus) most probably arose from real people, similar to how Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, in Burma/Myanmar, has become almost deified during her own lifetime. Because she sacrificed her freedom, her family, and dedicated her life to helping her people overcome adversity, people adore her. More on her story and her success of this past week in the elections in Myanmar later, as I said.

Of course when we see the word “God” … with a capital letter, we think of … the LIGHT. I don’t care what name you call “IT” … God is Light, God is Love, God is … well, you’ve heard all this before if you’ve read even one other post here at Lord Flea Sings.

But the emissaries of God’s loving Light, the “gods and goddesses” … these are You and Me and All of us! We, my friends, are the angels as well as the devils of lore. The positive-thinking people, the increasing numbers of human rays of Light are what I’m talking about here today. Our Light within. The Light that each one of us has, but perhaps haven’t yet discovered, or are in the process of trusting. This inner Light of our humanity is one and the same and innately connected to the indescribable power and majesty of the Light that connects all in existence. Whether you call it God or Spirit or consciousness, doesn’t matter. Forget the word, and think … “Unlimited Possibilities.” This is what LIght is. This is God as I understand the Mystery of Spirit. I prefer to call it OM, or, more yogically. Sanskrit-correctly, AUM.

the LIGHT within the Darkness

the LIGHT within the Darkness

Stay in the Light, my friends. Believe in the power of Love. Trust your own inner god-ness to be good enough, strong enough even, to save the entire world. Because numbers add up. We are awakening on a grand scale now more than any other time in history! When all of us join our Light, we are unstoppable in the inevitable illumination of the human race. When people live in Love instead of Fear, we shall melt away the fears of others. We shall love, and heal our enemy’s hurts as well as our own. We shall all live in the Light … in time. One opened heart and mind at a time. Humanity is changing.

Sometimes it takes being scared of things that happen in the Dark to awaken us to our true Light within.

Spread the word. Live from your heart. And if you don’t believe me … just try experimenting how fear and hatred take away everything you’ve got. Plunge into the storm of life, and have no fear: stay centered in the Light that is within you, within all of us.

How? Meditate, my friends. Learn as fast as you can. Google “how to meditate.” You can learn in a five minutes. Practice for just a minute everyday, that’s all it takes, believe me. It’s not like you have to change your life to become safe and secure in the Light! Become familiar with living in the Light, one minute at a time. Before you know it, our enemies will either fall away silently, be eradicated by the power of our joined Light, or … come over to the LIGHT because it’s way more fun, way more sensible … and it is who was truly are. We are beings of Light wearing our human costumes, until we return to the Light from where we once came.

With great Love and Respect for every person alive, even the terrorists who are causing such havoc,

your pal Lord Flea, aka teZa Lord

Peaceful Always Better than Murdurous

This is a FIRST for Lord Flea! Instead of editing my erroneous (facts, dear! they weren’t 100%) previous post, I’m going to give you this true and well-researched NEW version. The previous posting was so emotional (it took me an entire day to write, something that ordinarily takes an hour or two at most) that I’ve decided to leave it up, just so you can see how facts get distorted by even the most well-intentioned (me!). For those of you who want just facts, read below. For those of you who like to compare and contrast, go at ‘er and read the previous version.

 

Here’s today’s NEW post:

Lord Flea has done it again!

Lord Flea has done it again!

Leading up to an escalating confrontation, increasing numbers of demonstrators were gathering to protest our town’s quietly religious Islamic Center out on busy Route 207. A member of Peace and Unity (P&U), a local pro-active peace group here in St. Augustine, Fl, was commuting to work on Monday this past July 20, when she passed the Mosque.

She noticed a large group of angry, American flag-waving demonstrators who numbered around 30 to 40. For the previous days, the anti-Islam demonstrators (Ds) kept increasing. In a few days it would be Friday, the Islamic holy day of worship, when large numbers of families with children were expected to arrive at the Mosque.

The commuting-woman texted other P&U friends, who then sent out emails to the leaders of Compassionate St. Augustine (CSA), a group of concerned citizens who strive to live by the Golden Rule. Having specialized in being a volunteer go-between, a woman who, for years, has volunteered to help settle disputes, stepped in. The mediator (M) called a Muslim lady she knew. M asked her friend if she and her fellow Muslims who worship at the Mosque each Friday would like help. Most definitely, was the reply.

Outside the orthodox Islamic Center (IC) shouts of anti-Islam grew more aggressive each day. The Ds were incensed about the latest tragedy, an attack by a man named Muhammad who’d killed servicemen up in Chattanooga just the week before. The Ds and members of the IC had clashed on the sidewalk and had invective words that increased the Ds’ ire. The religious congregation feared for their lives to gather for their regular Mosque worship that coming Friday.

Meanwhile, the leader of the demonstrators (LofD) was putting things up on Facebook trying to rally people across the county and beyond, claiming suspicions of these Muslims being anti-American. Statements about “other attacks” appeared, including, incongruously, the recent attack on the prayer group in South Carolina, a tragedy not even related to Islam, an act of one very disturbed individual.

One disparagement seen on the page of LofD was: We plan on being here until they show who they really are—terrorists, and then we’ll be ready to take them out!

Somehow the email of M, who had privately offered to help the IC settle the rising dispute, was put up on the LofD’s Facebook page, scaring her, but not enough to keep her from continuing to try to help solve the growing crisis. M sent out a request for members of U&P, CSA, and other sympathetic organizations in our town, to meet on Friday, adding sweetly, “We’ll bring chocolate cake and lemonade for all our neighbors.”

Soon enough a rebuttal post appeared on LofD’s page how they’d show up with hamburgers and BLT sandwiches, enough for a hundred people, saying that bacon would taste especially good there at the Mosque.

some people just LOVE to argue and bitch and complain and conspire and .... yap yap yap!

some people just LOVE to argue and bitch and complain and conspire and …. yap yap yap!

But our local paper, the St. Augustine Record, got wind of the coming face-off. On Thursday, boldly placed on the front page, above all other headlines, was an article that horrified everyone’s sense of common decency. Included was a close-up photo of individual Ds holding a sign that read: “Islam is of the Devil, 666.” I swore to stop my busy work day to stand among the anti-demonstrators (a-Ds) to support our Muslim neighbors the next day.

All those burgers and sandwiches would go bad because only 6 Ds showed up.

Our group, the a-Ds, had 60-65 showed up in the humid heat of that early Friday morning, July 24. Quietly, without signs, without shouts or malice of any kind, we showed our love of freedom, yes, protecting ours and our neighbors’ constitutional rights of religious freedom. But we were there mostly to protect our Muslim neighbors from any more harassment. We stood tall and strong beside the Mosque’s entrance, and later joined them inside for prayer when the Ds’ tempers were cooled.

Perhaps Ds failed to show​ because they finally remembered our country’s ​tradition of welcoming all worshipers, no matter what different Name​ for the Almighty​ people use​, ​or​ religion, or​ denomination, as our founding fathers the Pilgrims, were once persecuted for, as well.

The 6 Ds paced the outside sidewalk, waving their over-sized American flags. I don’t think they shared any cake or lemonade with us. Ironically, the same constitutional rights the protesters were claiming (free speech) was done in protest​ation​ against other people’s right (to worship); two rights all on US soil have, the same for everyone.

Soon though, after our legions of support arrived at the Mosque, the temporary Iman, officially known as “the representative of the IC,” a man I’ve known for over 30 years as the owner of​ a pizza shop, walked out to peacefully greet the leader of the demonstrators. The white-robed Iman was accompanied by the white-haired mediator, a non-Muslim. The Iman identified himself and invited all the protesters to come inside the Mosque and join the Islamic worshipers and their supporters, in prayer, or just to see for themselves what “was going on inside here.”

​But the Ds would not join us inside. Later, we’d find out why. The LofD told ​the Iman​ and M that: We never go anywhere we can’t take our concealed weapons. The sheriff had told M that the Ds “were carrying and had permits for concealed weapons.” When M mentioned to Ds that the Mosque was a weapons-free zone, LofD said they couldn’t go anywhere they couldn’t take their weapons!

Then LofD said their real beef was because the IC wasn’t flying the American flag on its outside. The Iman​ immediately responded, “We’ll be happy to fly the Stars and Stripes, no problem! Why didn’t anyone just ask this of us before?”

A sad note to this otherwise breath-relieving solution was the manner in which LofD insisted the IC fly the specific flag presented to them when they met the next day. M, also in attendance, noticed on Saturday that the flag presented to the Iman had its grommets place in such a way that it would fly upside down. This, according to the U.S. Flag Code, means … “a signal of distress in instances of extreme danger to life or property.”

M noticed the flag was not rigged for proper alignment, and, together with the Iman, asked the LofD why? LofD said it was a special sign of respect to fly it upside down, signifying that soldiers had been killed. M objected saying passers-by would not understand this, what seemed alarmingly disrespectful to most people. M traded the upside down one for a properly flying one.

The Iman took a picture of their standard regulation flag flying outside the IC and sent it to the LofD, who called off further demonstrations.

The best part of this story is that now our Muslim neighbors feel more a part of our local community. Whereas before they felt isolated, mostly out of feeling misunderstood, or suffering scorn and harassment, religiously and politically, since 9/11.

the ripple effect creates the tipping point

the ripple effect creates the tipping point

The Iman did not mention to the demonstrators (but I must here) that there is no US flag flying outside any Catholic or Protestant Church in St. Augustine, nor the Jewish synagogue, neither any Buddhist nor Hindu temple nor Unitarian Universalist or Center for Spiritual Living that I know of. In America, church and state are supposed to be separate, right? But the Iman, an amiable person who has flown the American flag over the Coke dispenser at his pizza joint since I met him decades ago, agreed to this preposterous demand—in the name of wanting to make peace. And peace was made, even though the humble Iman did what I’m sure most religious leaders in America would balk at.

Help spread peace by signing the International Charter for Compassion at http://www.CharterForCompassion.

 

Ecstasy 1.0

Friends,

A week and a half ago I came as close to dying as I’ve ever experienced in life.

IMG_5994-1

Please don’t laugh. For a writer to be T-boned by a garbage-truck sized (big and white) BOOKMOBILE (on a cloudy, everything-is-white-everywhere kind of overclouded day) … this is an omen. This is the SIGN of SIGNs!

THis is what the final crunch looked like, my dear Ones, when I walked away with only a bump.

photo 1

This kind of near escape makes one stop. STOP! And … feel grateful. I’ve been feeling much more grateful than anything else. Of course there’s some thinking, too. But not nearly as much as just plain singing “thank you Great Spirit for letting me live!!!”

I watch each breath come in, I watch it slowly go out. I check my body. No harm! It’s a miracle. Nothing more, really, than an ordinary EXTRAORDINARY event. A miracle. I am simply grateful to be alive. My faithful 10-year-used Tracker was killed …

photo 2

… but I was given a reprieve. For at least a little while longer.

In gratitude, in Spirit, in quiet Stillness: This is how I’ve spent these last eleven days since getting CRUNCHED by the big white Bookmobile on our busy, hectic, overcrowded US1, just one minute from my quiet and secluded residence.

To say that I feel there’s more for me to do is an understatement. There’s simply no other reason I was allowed to walk away from that crash unscathed (but for the bump on my noggin where it smashed the side window).

After finding the perfect next car (a perfect LordFlea car: a ’95 RED Jeep Cherokee I found on Craigslist), I dove back into completing my book, which I’ve been working on for the last two years.

This final stage of book-writing is the detailed line-editing that I’m doing with a professional editor. We are preparing for the publication process together. Then, I’m finally ready to show the world my first book, illustrated of course. So I’d like to talk a minute about my work, or for what “thing” I presume my Chief Angel in charge of catastrophic events saved me from dying.

First of all, if I weren’t an artist I’d feel differently about “my work.” Ever since my early youth I’ve felt a connection to making images and stories, sometimes weaving the two together in narrative paintings or descriptive prose. Ten years ago I stopped exhibiting my paintings and sculptures because of a paralysis that struck both my thumbs. Ahhhh, another message from the cosmos … but of what?

That time, when I couldn’t even hold a pen or type a word or do much more artistically than shake a musical instrument — I had the opportunity to re-think where my “work” was going. During my recovery, I had a lot of time to think. As an spiritual communicator who arts, I do a lot of contemplating about the work. My paralyzed thumbs-recovery was long, and gratefully it introduced me to acupuncture and herbs that I chose to do in lieu of the thrice-recommended hand surgery. The diagnosis was tenosinovitis, a fusing of all tendons in both thumbs, drastic! Gently, as my thumbs regained strength, I began putting weight on my hands with simple yoga poses, until … I could stand on my hands as well as resume my love of writing. I could gradually type on a keyboard, which was much less painful than holding brushes or sculpting with my hands.

And thus, I switched my creative work from being predominantly a visual artist to exclusively, a writer.

For the next decade I wrote and wrote and wrote. But always, just when I thought I was ready to publish, something would happen to deter me from going public. My insecurity. That lousy voice we all know that says, “You’re no good; Who cares?” I allowed myself to get discouraged. All me. My success is that I”ve never stopped typing, I”ve kept writing and writing and writing.

But now is another time in my life.

Now — after walking away from what could have been the end, just eleven days ago — is the beginning of a new era.

Now — I won’t let anything or anybody stop me from putting the work I’ve been doing so earnestly all these years, into the public’s view. Instead of just writing I now will publish the work.

Book of teZ

Book of teZ

Everything feels very — different — since I came so close to losing my life. This may sound sophomoric, but to me life is certainly a gift, every single breath of it. As I get older, of course, I”m more appreciative of what I’ve been given. Today, I wonder how much more time I’ve got to do what I want, need to do. That thing called death is no longer just an abstract, weird phenomena that only happens to “others.” It came very close, brushing my cheek, bumping me against steel and glass, missing my bones but spilling my blood.

Today I was re-watching one of the most poignant interpretations of this gift called life, or consciousness, that I’ve ever run into.

Yes, I can write much more about how I’m feeling about this gift of life, but let’s let Jill Bolte Taylor’s famous TED talk do it for me, shall we? And if you are one of the few who hasn’t seen “My Stroke of Insight” you are in for an amazing ride, a visceral treat. An intellectual rollar-coaster. This in-tune, animate woman explains, and allows us to feel along with her, the gift of life as seen through the eyes of someone who has come even closer to losing this precious gift than I. And … in the process … because she’s a neuroscientist, a brain researcher, Jill gives us clear proof about what all of our “Work” here on Earth is about.

Because we all count, whether we’re artists, scientists, or a garbage collector. All of our work is similar: we are here to make life better on Earth. To evolve. Consciously. Spiritually.

Some of us learn earlier than others, that we have a choice. The human condition, our individual life, is about tuning into love, compassion, joy — and realizing that we are all ONE. Jill knows. I know. I hope you do, too. If you don’t, you’ll soon learn.

WE ARE ONE

WE ARE ONE

Stay tuned. Stay focused on your breath. Stay in the moment! Be BLISS!!!

Your ever-lovin’ pal, lordflea, aka teZa Lord

Love is a Many Blended Thing

Our Blended Family

Our Blended Family

 

Love is a Many Blended Thing

 

My friends laughed at me. “He’s so wrong. Move on,” they shouted.

“There’s a smoking gun behind his back, count on it,” my sister blurted.

“It’ll never work,” another said, always quick with the naysays. “You’re too different.”

“Don’t forget the religion thing,” a fellow yogini warned rolling her eyes.

It was true: my new heartthrob was all of what I wasn’t: a born again, meat eating jock, and a single father of two divorce-traumatized youngsters, a recipe for disaster for a person like me, they all said. I was a loner-artist, a lifelong yogini, and at times, known to be allergic to nurturing myself much less anyone else.

My meditation friends all agreed, even those espousing embrace-everyone’s-differences unanimously warned: Stay Away from Him.

But what can a girl do when her heart speaks a different language than the heedings of family and friends? Every time I tried breaking it off with him, and believe me, there were many as we seesawed in the Should We/Shouldn’t We dance, weighing feelings versus facts, clearly seeing the risks of following-our-bliss – I always ended up needing to know this man, even before I knew what he looked like.

It was his voice that first pierced the wall I’d neatly built around my heart.

All those years of trying, always trying, and in the end, failing at love, had left me fearful and cynical. I’d just determined that it would  take a harem of my own, filled with Speedo-clad yogic adepts, men who meditated as passionately as I and then made ravishingly sweaty, athletic love to me – plus a scholar of botany; and a musician, a harpsichordist, perhaps; and a scuba diving, round-the-world sailor to nicely sum up my multifaceted needs in a partner.

Just when I was working on envisioning my harem – Carter called.

~

He’d called because a friend of ours dared him.

“teZa has done what you now want to do, if I’m hearing you right,”  our mutual friend Elsbeth had told him. “She’s off booze and drugs for years now.”

Turns out, he and I had met Elsbeth at different spots in the Western Hemisphere. I met her when I lived in the West Indies and Elsbeth was a tugboat co-captain with five kids. I’d heard her mention Carter’s name a few times over the years I lived in Dominica, operating an island-trade business from there. Carter, back in the States after his own travels took him to South America, had known Elsbeth when he’d worked on her family’s ocean-going tug.

After each of our southern sojourns, he’d first gone to New York to make movies before ending up in Central Florida. The day of his call I was living in East Hampton, making millionaires’ gardens in between art works, enjoying the life of a finally sober, newly awakened seeker.

I picked up the phone that spring morning in the Hamptons. “Hi, This is Carter,” a deep voice resonated within me.

“Oh, I’ve heard of you from Elsbeth.”

Silence on the other line for a couple beats.

“Carter, you still there?”

“You don’t remember meeting me?”

I could hear my swallow, a loud cartoon balloon: “Gulp.”

Nonplussed, Carter related our first meeting, twenty years before, in the top floor Boston apartment I had, back at the beginning of my yearnings, before I knew that what I really was seeking was the inner glory, not the outer shimmers and gold rings dangling from the next adventure, next relationship, next career move. Change was my only career course back then, and I rapidly climbed its rungs of success.

But wait. I was Now sober. I’d been working on my shit for seven years already. It was the Now that drew me in like a fish on the line.

Something about this voice. This man. I didn’t recall him. How could I? I was obsessed with change back when he says we met, ever so briefly, two ships slinking past like far off shadows in an inky night.

“It happened. I never forgot meeting you because you sSshuned me,” he says.

My ear never heard such a sound! The way he pronounced his S’s, as if he whispered them but the rest of his words, plainly spoken. Every time he hit an “S” my belly throbbed. Something weird was getting activated in there. What the heck is going on? Is this guy a magician or something, I wondered.

We talked that first time, he from suburban Central Florida, where he’d gone to lick his wounds, he said, his tail between shaky legs after a disastrous marriage, bitter divorce, vicious custody battle, his first feature flopping and subsequent financial ruin.

“Oh – you have kids?” I repeated what mattered most to me.

With that spoken aloud, my breath got sucked away.

Never once had I identified myself as a breeder. If anything, as soon as kids came around, I’d make a mad dash for the nearest exit. On the phone, I’m confused for a moment in this Now. Should I listen, ecstatically as I had been, to this faceless, formless voice I don’t know, who’s hypnotizing me with his S’s, or should I quickly get off the phone?

“YesSs, my kidsSs are the lightsSs of my exisSstence,” Carter added.

I was his. With that one spellbinding proclamation, both in its content and mesmerizing effect, my heart double-jabbed, knocking all rationale within me senseless.

What followed was something I never dreamed possible. Instead of a harem, true love came for me: because I was ready. So I threw myself madly into the bowl of cherry-flavored S’s: Spiritual and Sensual fulfillment, and not so eaSy Sacrifice. The last was the hardest, but every sweet has a bitter note in its guarded recipe, otherwise the taste and sensation is dull, ordinary, noncommittal.

Within a few weeks I was on a plane to see Carter’s face for the first time. He remembered what mine looked like, he claimed. I didn’t need a face recognition program, if one had been available at that time, the early nineties, because I instantly remarked the beaming aura of light surrounding a tall man, whose features were blurred by a radiance of happiness as he stood in the back of a throng of greeters at the Tampa Airport.

We did our dance. We learned both our stories’ details, each of us coming together with a mixed bag of pre-existing conditions as every over thirty-something has slung over their shoulders.

After a long career making movies Carter was forced to throw it all over when money ran out and kids came along. Somewhere along the way he’d been born again, dunked in a gator pond, and now, as a full-custodial, single dad, was raising his kids to be committed Christians, like him.

Many phone calls ago, when he first mentioned the Jesus thing, I went quiet.

“Is there a problem?” Carter asked

“You know I’m not into religion, right? I love Jesus’ message of Universal Love, and Buddha’s before him and Mohammed’s after him, and the teachings of all the great illuminated beings, forever, everywhere. But I’m not keen on religion. That’s why meditation is my path. I’m a believer of God-is-Energy and the Oneness-of-All: that’s who I am. To me, religion appears to be as quixotic to modern humankind, as fatal as misused politics. Too much bloodshed over both of these. I’m apolitical and nonreligious – but I’m the biggest lover of Spirit who experiences God as Nature, and the interconnectedness of all. You have a problem with any of this, Carter?”

“Naw, as long as you love the Power beyond all understanding, I don’t care what you call Him.”

“Him, Her, or It.”

“Okay. Agreed. But I call him Jesus. That’s my bag. Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

Other differences popped up. To each challenge I said,

“Okay, got it. Weird, but, hey! – it’s your bag. You really live in suburbia?”

“That’s where the courts said I have to be, for the kids’ sake. This is where I grew up. Believe me, I hate it. We’ll move as soon as I regroup and replenish the coffers.”

My stomach did a flip when he told me: “I’m a Republican fiscally, but socially a Democrat.”

“Well I’m a nothing-can and a never-crat. Agree to let me be nonpolitical? I’m a spiritual activist, and on my path we do just as much as any campaigner ever has.”

“Agreed.”

Our many differences couldn’t shut off the steam valve that fed my love mojo. I wanted him. I needed him. His S’s went deep into my heart, soul and spirit. His easy laughter uplifted me, more than anyone or anything had my entire life. He was my harem of a dozen, rolled into one gorgeous, honest-to-God human being, despite his antediluvian political and religious affiliations, the exact opposite of mine.

When I met his kids, aged two and four, I fell triply in love.

The smoking gun?

“Well, you should know, teZ, that my ex-wife is a bit off balanced. She accused me of terrible things trying to win the kids in court. The judge ended up not giving her even joint-custody. In the end, her false charges only backfired.”

Soon after that plane ride to see for myself how a man who spoke a spell of S’s could have captured my restless heart – and discovered for myself that he was, indeed, all my imagined perfect mates, my harem, all rolled into one huge hunk of a sensitive-man package, despite his peculiar bags – I began to wonder if we possibly could make it together, being so different. He was willing to compromise; so was I.

After a lot of pre-marital counseling that preceded and followed our string of breakups in the next two years – we both held our noses and took the dive. None of our family or friends thought we’d make it.

The challenges of our differences is what makes our blended family so similar to so many others in our blended world culture these days. And they are exactly what has led Carter and me, and our now-grown children to become four better, mostly healed, tremendously more balanced individuals.

All our differences, instead of cement roadblocks, have been inspiring boosters, enticers, guiding Lights leading Carter, the kids, and me – our blended family, like humankind’s global blended family, also – to discover what really matters.

That Acceptance is the real power of Love.

Where are you up to, Lordflea?

First Glance, What IS

First Glance, What IS

Second LooK: Hmm, something more than first appearing

Second LooK: Hmm, something more than first appearing

Third time SEEING: under the obvious is the Energy connecting All

Third time SEEING: under the obvious is the Energy connecting All

Hello Friends,

Some blogger, huh, averaging a post a month these recent days. Seriously, folks, this is what happens when you’re writing a book. In my MIND I’m writing all sorts of interesting things. As I fall asleep each night, I can actually visualize the image I’d like to share with you, and how it relates to what I want to say, too. But … when it comes down to whether I take time off of getting the book prepared for the next step, or writing the Lordflea post, putting it up on WordPress (which couldn’t be easier, by the way) I usually opt to not blogging. For this I apologize to anyone who comes and visit and expects BREAKING NEWS a la Lordflea Sings. Naw. Not that kind of fluff here at Lord Flea. Only what’s deep and steadfast, and stands the test of time is what I’m going to share with you.

So here I am deep in the throes of the final stage of this book, that has, since I have been telling you about it, been completely transformed from what I first thought it was going to be. Everything about it has now evolving, becoming something quite different, totally unlike what it first appeared to be. In fact, its former title has disappeared (I won’t even mentioned what that was, so you won’t get confused) and it’s premise has completely changed, also.

Not unlike what happened, many years ago, when I set out to paint what the myth of Apollo and Daphne means to me.

From the first time I heard about this ancient story of love, both unrequitted and obsessively passionate — I’ve been fascinated by how it applies to what all of us experience in our pursuit of love. I must have been barely twenty when I first drew a fleeing woman turning into a tree, something that seems natural to me, nature lover that I am, back then always either chasing or running away from love. In my drawing I put an outstretched arm belonging to some smitten man who was trying to win her back from her drastic state of shape-shifting transformation, all in the name of love. Transformation to something greater, higher, came as natural to my composition as jelly to a peanut butter sandwich. What was truly surprising to me, back then, was when when a friend came to visit me and, standing over my drawing table, told me that I had clearly depicted in my watercolor and black-ink drawing-painting, the iconic story of Apollo and Daphne. Lost to me as a clear memory, but perhaps known by by subconscious and within all our DNA, laid waiting, wondering, resonating — the story of a half-human, half-goddess young woman named Daphne being pursued by the handsome and athletic Apollo, I had indeed drawn the story of these two ill-fated lovers. I had created my own story also.

Years later I visit this same theme again, but this time decided to make a trilogy, a series of what this myth means to me.

I started out with “First Glance” depicting the moment of Daphne’s transformation in a clearly recognizible fashion, although using collage-style cutouts and washes of colors instead of purely classical lines.

First Glance, What IS

First Glance, What IS

The “Second Look” came next, with a squint-like approach to the moment, stripping Daphne of her outer layers, putting her in a more severe posture of angst but using the same, men’s underwear packaging (by Calvin Klein) cutouts for Apollo’s arms. The scene is more raw, more passionate than the first one, don’t you think.

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And the last image, “Seeing” is the total absorption of Daphne into her new-found energy source, human female as part of nature, with only the underwear-arms of Apollo remaining for us to see that their combined image is the true source of energy that unites all things, whether human, myth, dreams, or what we call the realism of life on earth.

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This is exactly the process I’m going through, what it’s like writing this book. What I share here today, and will continue to bring you, each time I post for a while now, is more of my art works and how its message relates to what both you and me, and all of us, can apply to our earthly experiences, right here, right now.

We are ONE! Never forget this simple fact. No matter what I’m experiencing, the energy of what I’m doing with my life is part of what you, too, are experiencing, each moment.

In the Light of Oneness,

Lordflea, aka teZa Lord

why “Occupy” is important and spiritually-correct

Dear friends,

I’ve been thinking how to express that the Occupy movement is not only necessary, but inevitable. This is a test—for me a writer, as a thinker, as a spiritual warrior. As well as Occupy is a test for the moral and social fabric of humanity. I hope I can put into words what has been brewing deep in my heart. Some of you won’t agree, and that’s all right. But a blog is where we get to share our Truth….so here goes!

Yes, we are in the midst of a consciousness shift for the entire world, that’s for certain! It’s no longer just pie-in-the-sky hoping that one day our world will change from the over-materialistic, consumer-oriented one I was born into, into a world where people are focused on the bigger picture of what’s available in our human experience. And to me that is decidedly the spiritual experience.

Now, i know a lot of Occupy people are shouting about capitalism being evil, and corporations this and banking executives that … but beneath their revolutionary rhetoric i hear the main theme of their encampments, shouts, whispers, staying power, and unfortunately, some violence … as being the collective demand for a more human life. A life lived from the Heart, not the pocketbook or bank account. A new society in which its true value, and responsibility, rests with achievements completely different than what today’s world is all about. The New Order calls for (if I’m understanding the collective cry) local, state, and global unity and cohesiveness rather than the continuation of separation and class differentiation of any kind. Why is this a not only a logical demand but a necessary one? That’s an easy answer for me, since i’ve had to deal with the same issues in my personal quest.

Because when we are not spiritualized we are stuck in the muck, kept back, suffer, and inevitably, die without experiencing our true potential. The human race needs to embrace a mass spiritualization of its ideals, it’s that simple. We need to embrace the “Bigger Picture” rather than keep doing the old ways, which just don’t work anymore. And I’ll explain why I think so earnestly about the need for humanity’s spiritualization.

When a human turns their thinking, and starts operating differently, focusing their thoughts, actions, and power to a place of compassion for other beings, coming from their Big Heart instead of the Individual Head they’ve been programmed to fill with wanting-more: more power, more things, more more more, proving themselves “all right,” keeping-up with others, and worse, abiding by the ridiculous standards imposed by our lack-of-Big Heart society moderns have achieved — there’s no real satisfaction at the end of the day, at the end of one’s life either, in having lived a life filled with any meaningful satisfaction.

The only real satisfaction in life is when we realize that we are One. Everything that happens to one of us, happens to all of us. It’s that simple. If a person doesn’t achieve this perception of what “life” is all about … they’ve missed something. And collectively, if a society doesn’t operate from those parameters, it is less than what it could be. I would not go so far as to call it fascist, I’m not a rabid revolutionary. But I would say that living In Spirit is the only way to go, and that’s coming from a person who was NOT that to begin with.

So yes, the Occupy folks have my blessings. I think of them as I would a disgruntled teenager who is stressed from restrictions seen unnecessary and unfair and instead of becoming a professional lawyer, speaker, or leader, the teenager stomps, cries, demands, and confronts — oftentimes irrationally. Calling capitalism “fascism” is extreme, but hey! that’s what an not-yet-grounded In Spirit person would call a world in which what you own is more important that how you feel connected to the entire Universe

You see, there is a more serious, and very real future looming for us that no one even speaks about at Occupy places.

I’ve had a taste of this little-recognized reality of our future because, for whatever reason, I’ve been shown. I won’t go into the details here because you’ll all think i’m totally cracked, but let’s just say … I’ve been given proof that we are not alone here on this spinning blue ball in space. It’s been clearly demonstrated to me, and witnessed by two others, that we humans are being watched. Large numbers of “watchers” are aware of our petty little earthliness. And if we don’t get our act together and rid the world of ridiculous petty bickering, eliminate all nuclear possibilities of global devastation — well, as James Lovelock puts it in his Gaia Theory (paraphrased) … after we humans are destroyed by our own violent, stupidity and devices, the Earth will still continue to thrive, and repair its ecological damage — in time. We’re nothing more than renters, my dear Ones, akin to an infestation of parasites, we humans. We’re occupying a huge living body, collectively, and its called Mother Earth, Gaia. Nothing will stop our planet from surviving, even if we don’t.

In other words, we’re expendable. If the planet is to survive, just like a dog with fleas, the parasites must be eliminated. UNLESS, we get with the New Order and begin to transform our world and help in whatever way we can, little tiny act, change by change, to spiritualize our world, our human family.

So the Occupy movement is necessary. people need to hear that it’s time to WAKE UP!

The spiritualization of our planet has begun, and I’m one of those who communicate about this necessity, proudly dedicating my creative efforts as a writer and artist, to help others relax, let go of the old concept that MORE is better, and invite the higher, more realistic identification that All is ONE into their thus far, limited and self-destructing perceptions.

I write this today, Nov. 5, 2011 because there is an Occupy demonstration planned in my town square, tiny St. Augustine, Florida. I see my role as a person who can help to define and disseminate the information being shouted about by others. I’m a believer and supported of Global Change, the beginning of humanity’s spiritualization. We must transform small mindedness to encompass the Universal picture, because Earth is only one among many worlds, trust me. The science will catch us someday. What I saw, I saw, as well as my two friends who accompanied me that night, surf fishing off the coast of Massachusetts in the 70s. The selfishness of each country, each corporation, or person,  thinking they have all the answers would quickly — overnight! — change, if anyone witnessed what we witnessed.  We are not alone, my friends. Let’s get our act together before it’s too late.

Even if you find what I’ve shared hard to swallow, even if you don’t believe in other worlds safeguarding the possibility of what humanity could possibly do to disrupt the harmony of the Universe—it’s much more fun to live from your Big Heart than from your puny little “personal head.” Try it! Learn to meditate. Turn off your thinking and go within. All the answers are waiting to be discovered, right within your own Big Heart.

Please share this and let me hear what you think. I’m revealing deeply held personal beliefs here. Even if only one person “gets it” i’ll have not lived in vain.

in the Light,

your pal, lordflea

Dancing with Dolphins … a true story

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It’s wintertime when I go on a short visit to friends in Florida. Equipped with my trusty neoprene wetsuit, I stop on the beach before entering the frigid Gulf of Mexico waters off Siesta Key in Sarasota. Since the water temp is below 60 degrees, I have the sea to myself that day. Silently I think, “Today I’m going to prove to myself whether or not there really is any magic in this hard life, here on Earth. I once thought there was. But lately, I seriously doubt that we are all One, like I once felt as a child. I’m sick of doubting It, so I’m going to test it, right here, right now. I’m going prove it … or forget it! I’m going to call dolphins to come and play with me, using only my mind.”

Having said this proclamation to myself, I enter the chilly waters that glow with a silvery sheen, this windless day in February.

I’ve been wanting to perform this experiment for some time, ever since I heard about inter-species communication. In the water, I am absolutely alone. Not even a seagull flies in the sky that winter day. What better chance will I ever have, I think, to prove the strength of a person’s mental powers. I decide to use a mantra a friend had told me was “the most sacred words ever uttered.” Debbie, my flutist friend, had told me, “Om Namah Shivaya is the ancient sound-tool people have used for eons to attain inner peace.”

So today is the day, I think. Dolphins or bust, here I come!

I’m in the silvery surface of the water, swimming with my head above the water, just barely making a ripple as I swim languorously away from the white powdery beach that, even in the cold, felt deliciously soft under my feel.

For a short while I’m slowly swimming head-above water, repeating “Om Namah Shivaya” and … lo and behold I see a familiar dark dorsal fin. Just a flash. But instantly I know it’s a dolphin. In wintertime many porpoise can be seen off all beaches on both the Gulf and Atlantic coasts of Florida. Siesta Key is famous for the hoards of nomadic cetaceans passing by from October to March. With all certainty, I know I’ve been spotted by this dolphin. A loner. A scout.

Having always held the belief, as many other people might feel as well, that I’m a reincarnated porpoise (un huh) I swim right toward where I saw the animal cut the surface to take a breath. A few more minutes pass and I see, off to my right, then to my left, another jump and another … further away. The scout must have called to its pod. So I gently, easily, mantra-ing silently, swim in one direction, then another, following the jumps I see here and there, repeating to myself the odd new sound of Om Namah Shivaya … my mind clear, not thinking anything other than wanting to meet some new friends, these watery mammals. All I want is to be with them. I continue repeating this simple meditation phrase that Debbie said means “the true connection” between all that is, has been, and ever will be.

Further from where I’m at I see yet another solitary fin cut the surface, so I swim gently, resolutely, toward that next spot. This goes on for some time, with me not holding any other thought in my mind except true connection, over and over, wanting It, calling for It … and suddenly I realize—they are here!

we are One

we are One

Using only the silent sound in my mind as a beacon, I have invited them close, with thoughts alone—and boy, do they come. Suddenly many dolphins have appeared, darting and shooting like torpedoes all around me, checking me out. Now the fun begins! Not wanting to intrude upon their space, or frighten then, or give them misleading promptings that I might be one of those odd people who want to commune with wild critters just to tell others I’ve done so (chuckle) … I swim to a nearby sandbar and stand up. I do this to make myself as non-threatening as possible. In the clear, waist high shallow waters less than a hundred yards off Siesta Beach, I stand in an utter state of amazement.

All around me now, a gang of dolphins are rushing, jumping, wrestling, tumbling, screeching, laughing. I feel compelled to communicate, so I start making a high‑pitched animal-like sound, a song with one word, what comes out is something like: babeee-babeee-babeee. I continue this high-pitched effort as I swish the water with my hands … just to join in with the merriment, I suppose. The commotion around me does not stop for a second. I’m the center of a dolphin vortex. Individual dolphins appear in many different shades of grey, greenish-grey, blue-grey, as they jump up, hurl themselves out of the water’s crests, sticking their gleaming grey heads out of the water to look at me, laughing, evidently as curious, as intrigued as I am, then swoosh by on their backs to get a better look at me but none touching or coming closer than three feet of where I stand, bent and churning the surface with my hands, singing my queer babee-call.

Soon they grow more wild with their games. They wrestle in twos and threes as they speed around me bouncing each other, playing noisily, singing, laughing … and then … they grow more rambunctious as I stand, thrilled and unbelieving they are so natural around me as I watch several pair off, rolling and hugging each other in obvious coupling motions as they run pell-mell around me in circles. Some spectacular dolphin penises flash by me as they pass, amazing me at their size, more than the alarm I feel at the sharpness and proximity of their teeth.

I am, you can imagine, transported to another mental state, another dimension.

I forget who and what I am. By this time, it seems I am totally with them and of them. The animals’ carnival antics have been going on for some time, with me standing on the sandbar, swishing the water, calling my inane song of one-word, one-pitch repeated, babee-babee-babee, and watching. Yet sublimely happy to be accepted by them. Watching, but not wanting them to get any closer. Their teeth, which I see when they laugh and sing, are much more dangerous than I’d expected, frighteningly long and pointed. Their bodies are much larger in real life than I ever imagined, up close and personal as I am. Before, I’d only seen dolphins from a bridge, the deck of a boat, or in an aquarium. But it isn’t their teeth or my friends’ increasingly aggressive behavior that seeps through my ecstatic state. It’s the cold

The bitter reminder of winter bites through my wetsuit telling me, reminding me, that I must listen. My shivering body resists, but only when I can’t take it any longer do I tell myself it’s time to go.

I turn from my friends to face the land, reluctant and sad that I must leave them. The sight that meets my eyes shocks me.

Unknown to me, behind my vision and up on the beach, hundreds of people have gathered on the shoreline. The walkers on Siesta Beach have been watching the incredible sight of what they might have mistaken for a wild animal-trainer practicing her tricks. Quickly I turn away from the people on the shore. They are repulsive to me. People! Like a line of scavengers, they appear so dark, so still, so menacing. To me, they represent fear, mistrust, conflict. Hurt. I’m scared to go back to the beach, but know the cold drives me more than my fear of these people.

Truly, I’m scared to meet my own kind and desperately want to stay with the dolphins. These creatures that are so jolly and fun filled, they have this entire, vast watery world in which to frolic and play. No wonder they appear so accepting, so playful, so filled with carefree joy. If a genie appears right this minute I won’t hesitate to wish to become one with this pod, my new friends. But I know I have to go back. I have to return to my human life. I am a land person. I have to live among my fellow humans on terra firma, or at least on a boat whenever I can leave land to be closer to my new pod.

Resigned to my human fate, I slowly walk backwards, taking tiny steps with my back to the bothersome creatures on the beach. They crush closer to the shore. I refuse to look at them. I want to remain with my watery buddies as long as I possibly can.

The dolphins stay with me, all the way, as I stand upright, walking backwards, a single tiny step at a time, till the surf won’t allow my friends to accompany me any further. One by one they turn, and retreat away from me because the sea floor has become too shallow. I stand still and watch the last dolphin turn from me and jump through a breaking wave, and disappear beneath the glassine surface.

Only then do I turn toward shore. With eyes cast to the sandy beach in front of me, seeing only shells and seaweed that have washed up on shore, I walk the remaining few feet of gentle surf that tickles the beach.

Without a word to anyone I pass the silent crowd with my eyes focused on the sand. An older, well dressed woman rushes up to me and touches my arm, “Are you—?” I raise my eyes and look right into her moist blue eyes and say without malice, “I can’t talk right now, sorry.”

Then I continue walking across the beach until I reach my car in the parking lot, turn the engine on, and take off in silence, without engaging anyone. Alone with my elevated thoughts. Alone with my wanting to be what I am not. Thinking how much I so want to be with my dolphin friends, and not be stuck in my own skin.

Reflections of our Oneness

Reflections of our Oneness