The Import


The force of good played an epic hand in the glory of victory. Against the tide of emotional, social, and political oppression did the labor of prosperity propel an omnipresent, undying dream. Quietly and persistently, mile by mile, stretch by stretch, stride by stride, many times crouching and crawling, a sprawling desire to construct love, order, peace, and equality made way in the fertile valley of manifestation.


Before leaving home, the remains of broken dreams were laid to rest. The roots of cultural familiarity were yanked from useless soil. A solemn gift of commemoration was offered three tiny children swooped to heaven after being cradled in their mother’s womb to term, but, through hands of destiny, unable to take their first breath. Deep ties of love to those who stayed behind were placed in an armored chest of cherished, priceless memories. Very little to nothing was there to pack, but very immense a vision was there to uphold. A journey on robust feet in tattered shoes with stoic hearts in rotting cloth embarked to a place where return home would often be difficult and hardly take place.

They marched through doors of social and political hostility. Through furtive actions, defined by one side as criminal and by the other as asylum, they made their way over the wall and set foot on the promising foundations of democracy where, without hesitation, they arduously reaped the fruits of economic opportunity. Day after day, year after year, decade after decade, they sowed the seeds of faith and created a legacy meant to fulfill the vision of this united land. Through moments of personal turmoil with undefined causes, embarrassment for misunderstanding the norms, the words, the signs, and, sometimes, the rules, submission to difficult and underpaid labor, unwelcome glances and words from those resistant to unfamiliar faces with foreign language and customs, my parents laid the groundwork for the coveted achievement of self-realization. In my mother’s womb, across a border created by man, in a vessel empowered by God, I made it to America.


photo credit: dennis.grailich Victory via photopin (license)

photo credit: x1klima Woman and Grief via photopin (license)

photo credit: yltsahg Liberty via photopin (license)

Continue reading


A Force of Change

31453486753_0dff93d590 (1)

A relative to whom I was once fairly close once told me she could never forgive her parents for the hurt they had caused her. She explained this to me after I encouraged her to forgive them. Every now and then, I hear people say “I can forgive, but I can’t ever forget.” Undoubtedly, we hear of experiences so horrid and tragic that can make it awfully difficult to explain or comprehend the place of forgiveness in those situations. Preaching about forgiveness is about the last approach most people desire in a state of pain, and trauma, in some cases. As much as I value forgiveness, I sometimes doubt my fortitude to accomplish this virtue in the face of transgression. I can certainly intellectualize forgiveness as a powerful force which can set us free from the chains of stagnation. By forgiving, we gain the wisdom and strength needed to offer something of value to the world. Forgiveness shapes us into unique individuals and grants us the gift of healing others. No one can deny that this world needs this service of love now more than ever. However, intellectualizing a concept does not mean exercising our principles with passion. Rudolf Steiner, in Vision of Love, explains we must understand with feeling and feel with understanding. Therefore, forgiveness should move far beyond us saying it is an essential virtue. Forgiveness should also move us far beyond entangling ourselves in harmful situations, if it can be helped.

One day, a friend asked me for a ride to the cemetery. He wanted to visit the gravesite of a dear friend he had lost previously. Once we arrived, he kindly asked me to wait in the car while he visited the gravesite. It was a nice, sunny day and the cemetery was a bit hilly with green grass, which is what you might expect. I had an experience for a short moment that day which I may never, ever forget. I well recall I was in the early stages of desiring positive change in my life, and, though I still stumbled and fumbled plenty, I had some awareness of personal growth. Up on one of the small cemetery hills I envisioned both my parents as very small children standing together joyfully on the grass looking in my direction. Be aware, I have seen only one picture of my father as a small child and none of my mother. As I envisioned them ever so vividly, I began to cry a solemn cry of relief. Vividly imagining my parents as small innocent children allowed me to see them in a new light. It goes without saying, I was highly anguished at one point in my life over their parenting behavior and decisions. The point of my experience at the cemetery was not that the vision convinced me my parents were like small, innocent children. The point was I had been given a divine opportunity to forgive them. It was not about approaching them in real life and letting them know they were forgiven, or about justifying their errors, or about explaining they were perfect parents, or about giving them something of value at the expense of my well-being. Since that day, I desire to find and attain the gem of forgiveness any time the chains of resentment invite themselves into my life and threaten to cloud my opportunity to grow and change. Growth and change have been the divine gifts of a desire to be a better person, and I have had the honor to see these scepters of power unfold in my life.

I have hardly spoken to my relative over the last decade, at least. From what I have heard about her, and from what I have seen, she has had a very difficult time emotionally and mentally. I am also haunted by repeated dreams about her in which she is not doing well. At some point, shortly before she and I became distant, she slowly grappled with an obsessive idea about the experiences of her upbringing, which were, in the frame of time, decades behind her. I am too often disconcerted by the stories I hear which I can ascertain to be very close to true. My relative endures chronic mental collapse, and portrays inappropriate behaviors resembling those of a rebellious and tormented teenager, though she is, chronologically, what society refers to as middle-aged. I am not in a position to claim a genuine capacity to forgive in all situations at all times. I think I understand the grace and power of forgiveness, and have sadly seen in those I love the detriment of a refusal to forgive. All I can ask and desire is to master the power of forgiveness, and grow to be a vehicle of change even if it be in the meekest of ways. Ultimately, forgiveness is the source of peace and love this Earth deserves. It is the mightiest token of humanity’s treasure hunt for truth and healing.


photo credit: Neil. Moralee N05/31453486753″>Clouds in my coffee. via photopin (license)

photo credit: pitti13 N07/31571576466″>treasure bag via photopin (license)

The Place I Come From


I walked an emotionally treacherous path. I faced the pitfalls of delusion. What others did not undo for me, I undid myself. I entered this life with the markings of strife. I lived the desolate plains of empty-heartedness and disillusionment. For a long, long while, the fragility of childhood stood little chance against the insidious fatalism of adulthood. Subtly and persistently does adulthood squeeze and crack the promise of infinite possibilities, remarkable potentials, the vision of multi-dimensions, the courage to announce that anything and everything is possible intrinsic to the unique and phenomenal existence of childhood. It takes just over a decade to fully establish the notion that humanity may not be so worthy after all.


To find the potential for heaven, the potential and actualities of hell came first. It was a living hell measured not by the tragedies of the 6 o’clock news, but by the agony and torture sustained by this broken heart. It may not have been the hell of others, but it was the hellish anguish of heavy shoulders, an obsessively frazzled mind, a tight chest, weary motivation to act, and tragically ignorant helplessness in the role of events and circumstances. I marched on desperately searching for an answer, yet compulsively and skillfully swimming the murky waters of self-inflicted harm. Because no answer would come fast enough, I embarked on a trip  to even greater depths of hell. If the current dismal condition had not inspired sufficient motivation to positive action, then the purposeful and continued neglect and abuse of this existence just might do the trick. Some hopeless action finally did the trick.


Far beneath the victimhood, a small voice with a powerful will to live called out to the vast expanse we call space. As I recall now, my eyes often glanced at the sky, my pen and paper often expressed a latent strength and courage, my “blind” wandering bumped me into people that led me down a new, promising door. My gift from heaven was a torch of light and hope and a sword of wisdom and knowledge. I was not to know for many years, and even fervishly reject the idea that there was any life purpose reserved for this existence of destructiveness and erroneous thinking. In consideration of what I see and understand, of the learning presented before me, of the experiences which take shape, of the fruits of joy and peace of which I partake, of my grand opportunity to share with you today that this story of triumph belongs to you, it is written across the fabric of heaven that on we march to an evolution of world change, of a perfect world order.

How I Homeschool My Child: 5 Steps


1. I accept my child’s talents, skills, and abilities. I do not make comparisons to the gifts of other children.

2. I  set achievement standards my child and I agree on. If she expresses frustration about an assignment, we talk about it and together we decide how she can learn the subject.

3. I support my child’s post-graduation goals, not the goals of others,  not even those of myself.

4. I teach by example. I get my hands dirty, and work on an assignment with her, showing her how I would do it. We find the answer and solution together. I do not make a list of assignments, hand it to her, and disappear.

5. We step outside the classroom often, and learn out in the field through interaction, discussion, and adventure.

A Recipe for Peace

I fight for peace every day. The greatest war is against the power of anger toward the actions of others in some past event or situation. It could also be a war against my illusions of a past when, in divine terms, time does not exist. Very recently, I clearly realized my role as a lover of war. I easily war with people and situations I encounter throughout the day, and I easily war with people in my thoughts. I clearly recognize my fear-based struggle to give my ego a place within the context of the third dimension. I can be overly concerned, maybe even obsessed, with the image I present to the world.

Truthfully, I dread appearing dumb, weak, and wrong. I compete in the race to be number one, to have social status, to own certain material things, to be recognized in professional circles, to be an eloquent speaker, nevermind a good listener. Every waking moment I am warring with things, people, and situations. This is where I have come to fully understand that peace starts with oneself. The energy output of my warring thoughts transcends the peace this world desires. I am offensive and defensive.


My armor is will, a God-given will. I have sought and I have found. I have asked and I have received. This has been the simple but powerful path I have taken. Every waking moment I am a keen monitor of my thoughts. Each time I am more skilled at dismissing my anger toward imagined transgressions from the car that got in front of me on the road, from the customer that made it to the cash register three seconds faster than I, from the coworker, employer, friend, or relative that had the last word, from the parents who didn’t love or hug me enough, from the government that can’t get the laws and policies right. I am a warrior of mercy, compassion, forgiveness, gentleness, and kindness. It will be known, and it is being known that this is the powerful force which will change the world forever. Let there be peace.

Ascension: I Choose to Live


Who or what chose the length of my lifespan? Why am I told God is perfect while I am fully aware humanity is imperfect? Why does humanity advocate for equality, but we are unequal to God? If God is eternal then why must all life on Earth die? Why did Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead, if death is the way of humanity? If the lion lies down with the lamb then why does the cat devour the mouse, and the spider the fly? Why do sermons not sufficiently and more loudly explain the hundreds of years lifespans of biblical figures? I would rather know the secret to anti-aging and anti-death, than be reminded of the wages of sin over and over, over and over.

My God is perfect, all-loving, all-wise, and all-powerful. My God recognizes the female gender, and I am made in the image of that God. I am made in the image of a perfect God, therefore I am perfect. I am not wrinkled, sagging, declining, and dwindling. So religion and science halt the stories of finite men, and tell the stories of infinite, eternal beings living and breathing on planet Earth.

So says Levi H. Dowling’s The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ Jesus promised us what he can do we can do and what he is all man shall be. Therefore, I defy the scientific and religious fact that old we must get and die we must do, that from dust we come and to dust we return because like author Linda Goodman explains in Star Signs, behind the facts lies the truth.

Yes, I Pray

IMG_0079It would be an understatement to write I am a better person because of prayer. I now interchangeably refer to prayer as affirmations. Prayer is the stronghold of my life. It is my vehicle of positive change and wisdom.

As a reference point, I look back to my life before prayer which includes birth to the age of twenty something.  The day I devoted myself to prayer I was catapulted to a higher dimension of personal transformation. I was brought to the detoxifying process of grief and countless tears. I was able to undo an early life of fear, insecurity, anger, trauma, and the somber list goes on.

I do not claim religious membership or doctrines. I only claim to know the force which urged a turning point in a life of symbolic blindness to the possibility of joy and purpose. I propose to stand firm by my daily affirmations. I propose to share with others the strength one person has to make a change in the world, or in oneself.

People may call me disciplined or calm. They may call me happy-go-lucky or optimistic. They may call me accomplished and committed. I do not often announce this personal practice of prayer, but I should. It is the basis of my strength and happiness which is evident in the social, familial, and economic rewards life brings my way sometimes so peculiarly. If one may ask or wonder where I find the determination to live a life of duty, work, purpose, love, and, above all, laughter, the answer is prayer. I image and ordain as author Linda Goodman puts it, or I pray as religion puts it.