Monthly Archives: April 2012

A Dark Moon Treasure Unearthed – “The Invitation”….

 The Dark Moon – a planting moon – a dreamtime moon – the dark part of my journey.  The absence of light forcing me to look within because I can’t look without.  These words came to me while ruminating on this treasure I found to share.  I discovered “The Invitation” buried in an old box during my recent excavations.  I find it a beautiful meditation for those who are undertaking the path to personal transformation, daring to rock their boats – or – bail out, challenging status quo, deciding to wake up and  be who they are – then undertaking the journey to that particular manifestation. 

To me – it feels like my older wiser self is giving me foundational clues for a genuinely authentic relationship with myself and others.    I hope you enjoy it and are perhaps inspired….

“The Invitation”

Oriah Mountain Dreamer – Indian Elder

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams,

for the adventure of being.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,

if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own;

if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,

or to remember the limitations of being a human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;

if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see the beauty even when it’s not pretty every day,

and if you can source your life from ITS presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,

and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,


It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,

weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and,

 if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.


“By the Dark of the Moon I Planted”……

Ever had a song stuck in your head?  Well I’ve had this “classic” stuck in mine for the last two days.  We have a new dark Moon tonight in Taurus that’s apparently all about planting.  So, as embarrassing as it is to admit  –  Michael Martin Murphey’s “Wildfire” is the lodger in my head and  – Enough Already!!!  Let it now be stuck in yours and maybe there’s a mystical, magical inspiration or two buried somewhere in those impossibly sappy lyrics. 

 Ok – Truth be told – I loved that song it its halcyon days……

Seemingly nonsequitur  – I came across this gorgeous image on  Check out the site for lovely insights into today’s new “planting” moon.  My trowel is at the ready and my head is deliciously devoid of that particular tune now…..

A Few Words on the Miracle and Angst of Transformation….

I find the following a gorgeous and succinct description of the miracle and the agnst of personal transformation.  It may speak to you as well…  I highly recommend the book.

Excerpt from Mango Elephants in the Sun – S. Herrera

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 “The caterpillar becomes a glob of goo.

 Not the sweet goo of cookie dough but the messy, sticky, smelly goo of an insect’s guts being torn apart by nature’s design.


I want wings and to fly, but I don’t want to suffer in the confining darkness of a cocoon and go through the process of becoming a butterfly.  I want to skip a step and move my wings – or even crawl back into my caterpillar’s body.

 Anything would be better than this.

 In this in-between stage, I can no longer rush back to my old body in my former life.  And I don’t yet know how to become a part of this village – the new life.

 My skin has become the cocoon and my soul the caterpiller.  I am metamorphosing; my entire molecular structure is melting down.

 There is nothing I can do to speed up the process.  I am stuck with this goo form I have become.

 But somewhere within the goo is the coding of what is coming next.

 So I wait for the place I can finally reach inside myself that I can call home….”

What if We Had No Faces…….

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In my last post I talked about my many faces – my edifaces carefully constructed over time to hide my particular buried things. I suggested this is what many humans do to avoid dealing with their pasts. Here is a little something I unearthed in my recent excavations – I wrote it in the 5th grade – in a catholic school no less – and freaked the nuns out badly enough that I got shipped off to counseling, diagnosed anti-social and consigned to group therapy at the tender age of around 10 – (god bless the nuns but I remain unsaved):

The Nightmare – People with No Faces

Our Faces

These mirrors we hide behind,


Reflecting back to you, and you, and you

all that you wish to see, to feel

through the reflection of your own mirror

And behind my mirror

I sit

with my quiet, screaming agony of truth –

Faces, carefully arranged to conceal

Like the beautiful floral arrangement that hides the truth of Aunt Bettie’s

red wine stain on the antique lace tablecloth.

Remember, it was that Thanksgiving Uncle Mort had the affair with the stock boy –

They are so very versatile – our faces.

We are safe behind them – we imagine.

Our fortress from the world

Our Mask

so we don’t have to show the truth – or to see it….

Or –

So we imagine.

But we know – deep – this is an illusion –

What a nightmare if all our faces were suddenly gone

and there was nothing left to see, to feel
but the Truth?

As surely as staring at the sun can blind

the brilliance of our Truth – to the uninitiated – may kill.

What then?

Raiana Golden – 2011

– I’ve updated the vocab but the original spirit is intact.

(all copy rights reserved – if you are drawn to use or pass on – feel free – just please keep your karma squeaky clean and give credit where due)

A Personal Archeology…..the Buried Things….

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I have always been fascinated with buried things.  As a rule –  I’m more interested in what’s underneath than what on the surface.  The surface is too obvious.  While Notre Dame is beautiful I hurried through it so I could spend more time in the galo roman ruins it’s built on.  I’m pretty sure that imposing edifice was constructed to try and eradicate any remaining doubts about the power and control christianity would wield. The dusty poorly lit rooms that displayed the ruins were far more interesting to me – it held the bones – the reasons and the drive for the structure above.  In my travels last year I wandered through graveyards wondering about the remains under the ground, under church floors. I contemplated what was buried behind or inside prison walls, on battlefields, in decaying castle gardens.  I wanted to know what’s underneath the obvious…

The faces I have worn through my life – my edifaces constructed carefully to conceal the truth buried beneath…

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It comes to me that humans are remarkably similar- erecting imposing edifices called our stories, our careers, our children, our aquisitions, our degrees, our homes and holdings – built over the bones of our pasts – the ruins left behind as a result of our weighted process from a free spirited inspired child to a well behaved, conforming adult.  What’s interesting though – is underneath…..

I mentioned in my last post that my own edifice – my personal construct carefully built to tell a particular story to the world was largely demolished in the recent tornado called Urge for Authenticity – to know what’s real…

As I continue to prize away the lids on the unearthed boxes to survey the artifacts of my ruins below my own particular facade – I am struck by all the fantastic things a person can accomplish when they’re angry – really angry – for years – for decades.  While kind of impressed with the litter of my achievements – I wondered at what was really driving most of them.  Sad to say – it wasn’t joy in the simple doing.  More like “I Must Prove Myself”,  “I’ll Show You!”, “Notice Me – Look At Me” (I know – the absolute height of pathetic).  Any number of similar rationales that – viewed in retrospect – make the various accomplishments seem hollow. 

Anger by itself isn’t a bad thing so I’m told.  It’s fuel plain and simple.  But its also like fossil fuel when you are on a journey like mine.  Its not renewable unless you want to keep drilling for more angy bitter stories.  And let me tell you – there is a price – a heavy price.  How much do you think its costs a person to drag around a 33 piece matching louis vitton set of personal baggage?  Kinda like the mileage you get from that Hummer you just have to have to impress who??  Or Whom?  It’s just not worth it in the end.  Too much, too little, too late, too expensive on so many levels with a seriously sucky ROI… Such is the journey of personal archeology – a search for something beyond the obvious…

I’m still digging in the buried things.  In these artifacts I used to call home.  I can’t stand the energy they generate or the residue on my skin, on my spirit.  Time for something cleaner, renewable without such a cost.  Sustainable, expansive, inspiring, freeing…

Random thought:  Who will I be without these old stories to shore me up?  Not at all sure – I’m still digging…

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