Thursday, June 24, 2010


My lovely, royal poinciana friend is doing it again.

Letting go of her full, vibrant blooms, they are spiraling down, taking rest on the surface of the pool.

They are lovely, these offerings.

Small, golden-orange flames, they reflect the radiant light of the heart.

Fire surrendered to water, they are whispering:

"Give what is most beautiful of yourself to the vastness of Spirit."

Those blooms were never mine to begin with.

They were always meant to be shared.

Thursday, June 17, 2010


Almost three years ago, when my inner guidance, framed in the fragrant silk of one of my Spiritual Teacher's asked, "When are you writing the book?" I had no clue that my world would expand in the way it has. Since then, I have been taken down roads I would never have dared imagine and I am grateful beyond words.

Writing on this blog is a way of expressing gratitude for the way grace has entered and filled my life, like a vast, limitless ocean.

I bow to That and in my bowing, I bow to you for visiting these words which arise and subside from the Pure Self.

I would love to hear your voice too.

I would love to hear how one of these postings has touched your heart or how aspects of your own world have opened to reveal the unifying nature of all things.

How would you describe the formless nature of the I AM?

Please don't be shy.

The world is waiting to hear from the magnificence of your own great heart.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010


Rain is falling once again. It begins softly, so softly and builds until it fills the senses, drumming and pushing against the ribs and my soft, open heart.

It does this to me, the rain, carrying me silently to India, a place I once thought I had left.

Yet, here I am again, adoring the purple-blue clouds which fill the sky, like an upside down ocean.

What an amazing life this is, that I am here and here.

Beloved, you were right when you told me,

"I Am everywhere always."

I know it now. You grappled away the idea of me and mine.

What is left, is vast, empty silence and a heart overflowing with the rain and a wide, limitless ocean.

Sunday, June 6, 2010


Early one morning, I dream I am in India. The fragrance of pungent incense is suspended in the heavy, moist air, mixed with the unforgettable smell of rich earth. I am walking through a small village, between simple dwellings, held together with clay baked walls and dry grass roofs. Heat presses in, holding me still, centered in every movement.

Looking down, I see bare, brown feet, stepping out from under my long, orange robe. Villagers passing by, bring their hands together in silent greeting and bow. I greet them with the same pranam, bowing to the light.

It used to be, in these dreams of mine, I would be looking for one of my Teachers. Now, there's no need. We are looking through the same eyes.

Early one morning, in my dream in India, I am Father Bede Griffiths. I make a promise to read a little about his life and discover what He wants to tell me.

He who is dreaming new insights into my world and I into His.

The same One.

When You Pour Your Tea

When you pour your tea,     There are a thousand eyes, Watching the moon, Praying for answers. Invite those eyes, To sit awhile...