“SOUL LIFE…”

Each time I hear, see, or speak the words SOUL LIFE I revisit, for the moment, my childhood. How easy it was then to visualize every possibility as I had yet to place parameters on my own dreams. Still time has a way of shifting who we are and I now consider my dreams—past and present—an element of my Soul Life.

Why you may ask? Well it began at my birth. I was surrounded by family on all sides and wherever I wandered. Each voice conveyed innuendo as to the caretaking of a spiritual life. Of course I was typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2unaware of this until years later and my encounter with a high priestess; my Great Grandmother. She arrived in America from Italy long before I was even a thought. And until I was a grown woman I did not spend much private time with her. Until that one day…  Her blueprint was to rock slowly back and forth on her front porch; a grey shawl wrapped tight about her shoulders. On this morning she shared with me saying: “It’s my time!” She continued rocking and added: “The angels carry my soul back to God.”

She continued her rocking cadence but remained silent; even though I asked her to explain …my time. Whether or not she lived beyond “…my time” I shall never know. Yet that moment with her I shall never forget.  

These days there are social media sites across the spectrum as to the Soul and its purpose before life during life and afterlife. Our guides in this open dialogue are names like Deepak Chopra, Gary Zukav, Eckhart Tolle, Oprah, Wayne Dyer, and so many more. I do not pretend to speak on their behalf or on behalf of my great grandmother.

As to the word soul I see it as an intention given by God with a return date required.

WRITERS OR STORYTELLERS…

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I was researching the word storyteller the other day and found that We the Writers of Mother Earth are regarded as both raconteurs and fibbers and liars. Well, I was deeply offended! In fact, I consider each word I write to carry with it my intention to speak to the essence of its reader.

Words, in any language, can benefit or create fear or destroy. Storytellers on social media are fully engaged in a war of words that include their credentials to impart they are correct in whatever they print. Newspapers and magazines and mailings arrive in our mailboxes or on our doorsteps. These are to enlighten us on whom or what to vote for. What is best for us to eat or buy and where. Yet, not many flyers remind us to look at a cloud or stop to listen to our child’s laughter or call an elder parent or just take a breath.

 

COLORADO & PULLING WEEDS…”

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Today, as I pulled weeds from our rock garden, I realized the rocks held tight to these intruders as if implying they were here to stay. For those of you who know my blogs—yes—there is a link between what was intended and how our garden actually grows.

EXAMPLE AUTOMOBILES: I was born and raised in Trinidad, Colorado and until I was seven years old we did not have an automobile. So when Dad came home with IT Mother insisted we put on cleans clothes and shoes (we went barefoot all the time). Sometime later we learned we were to take a family trip to Denver. In those days IT was the center of our Colorado. We all got sick from the fumes rising into the car but no one complained because Denver was our destination! Compare this to today when some use their vehicles for weapons & lawyers are everywhere.

EXAMPLE EDUCATION: We learned what there was to learn in those days. Books were in print and never up-to-date. One BIG scare while in high school was the fact We the People were warned that the Russians were coming for us. We were advised, by those who said the Russians were coming, that when they did arrive we were to hide beneath our wooden desks. Naively my friends and family took this threat seriously. These days there are ultimately much easier ways for Russia to attack us without touching our shores.

EXAMPLE TECHNOLOGY: Pencils and paper and rulers and machines that clicked and libraries and calculations on paper and cursive and Hallmark cards we wrote in and typewriters and Gregg Shorthand Simplified and storytelling by writers in hardbound books one could smell and television and connecting with others by telephone and whatever you wish to add to this list.

EXAMPLE FOOD: We had local stores where everyone knows your name. Where people could promise to pay for food later and they did. Where most had gardens with vegetables and all food was cooked by hands who knew the purpose of its nutrients. Contrast the warnings on the news these days as to what is or is not good for us or contaminated or a new version of yesterday’s food and those end dates on packaged products of all kinds. I’m curious if the dates are arbitrary or real?

EXAMPLE MEDICINE: I do not remember taking pills when I grew up. There were no cupboards to lock in case a child might get curious about what looked like candy. And did we have as many illnesses before the list of their possibilities started to run across every television station asking us to call our doctor just in case we have one of the symptoms mentioned. And I question if in fact if marijuana helps some illnesses why haven’t the pharmaceutical companies jumped onboard. It’s not like marijuana hasn’t been around forever.

EXAMPLE LEGAL MARIJUANA: Just a question: Are the legal monies for selling marijuana actually reaching the COLORADO CHILDREN to enhance their education. Some say yes and some say no. This question is like those weeds I chose to pull this morning: intruders in my garden that are coming harder and harder to pull.

“STORYTELLERS & TIME….”

Storytellers2STORYTELLERS capture our imaginations in many forms. For example Jim Goodman who used to be referred to as Professor James Goodman in Civil Engineering at Colorado State University. I’d worked with his group writing the outcome of their efforts to—on purpose—break wooden telephone poles. Those who offered the poles for demolition were the Electric Power Research Institute in Palo Alto, California.

But that was then and this is now. Like many of us who used to write for others, we now take great pleasure in writing blogs about many topics. In Jim’s case it is his memories of living in Wild and Wonderful Wyoming; the title of his blog. I like that he casts, as if fishing, for fables and true stories from his memories in the Wyoming of his day. Jim’s writing is more in the style of memoir because he delves into the time and place and intention of each blog he writes. One of my favorites is “A Mother’s Day Tribute.” I recommend that you cast a line and sit back and enjoy Jim’s style of storytelling @ jimbomedia.info/wordpress/.

Storytelling: Unaware, each of us live within our life stories and some of us share our past online in a word named BLOG. Each blogger tells a different story that draws readers to capture the memory moments of their experience on Mother Earth. Jim’s Wyoming, past and present, is an example of fables and rumors and the poignant moments of childhood that never fade away.

I’ve always thought that due to technology we are losing our life stories. Yet here I am utilizing that exact technology to encourage you to visit bloggers and stay a while. Why? Well you just might see yourself in their words. Yet, as technology leapfrogs faster and faster into the future, I question who will tell our stories? I ask this unanswerable question because I believe each voice on Mother Earth has a story to impart that someone needs to hear!    

“THE COLLECTION……..”

Collection is a word that means anthology or gathering or collected works. In this case all three words are relevant. It took two years to assemble the creative thoughts and to write the story and to find the perfect artists for what is our collection.

The book “How Angles Fly” came into the creative light that demanded the writer, me Janet, to tell the story of a mortal and an angel and how they learn how it is that angels fly. The Postcards from God Angel Collection (eight in all) came to life in the creative instincts and talents of twins Morgan and Meghan. And in and out were Jennifer and Brett who took the collection to print for the purpose of others to ask: How do angels fly?

Stop by at http://jlmsgarden.com/ and see what is real that once was but a dream. Thank You!

“THE SPIRIT OF THE HEART…”

heartSpirit is a word that means courage and character. Heart is a word that means spirit and empathy; kindness if you wish. I’ve wondered all my life, but more so in such tumultuous times, as to the true connection of the Spirit of the Heart. Spirit has many monikers that are attached to the human psyche. Heart is what beats to the rhythm of life. When either stop humankind are affected for all of time.

So I decided to combine these two words and name us  SPIRITHEARTS…

Humankind, whether aware of it or not, are storytellers. In fact, our life story is not about our life, it is our life. Storytelling is a forever occurrence in the lifespan of humankind and even more so when those in our story depart this life. We oftentimes celebrate their story in the form of a eulogy or other traditions around the world.

By way of storytelling, a eulogy is a time that recalls the essence of a loved one. Each eulogy paints—sometimes in muted colors and other times bold— reflective memories held in a moment in a place in a time. Laughter and tears and smells and tastes that drift in the memory of those gathered to mourn. Eulogies allow us to speak on behalf of a voice silenced by mortality; soundless goodbyes for the SPIRITHEART of remembrance.

Now Released – “HOW ANGELS FLY”

eBookCover_BrightenedThere are storylines surrounded by all that we see and all that we neglect to notice. As a writer I hope to always notice the moment when storytelling first begins. And, yes, “How Angels Fly” is my devotion to this intention.

Long after writing my first version of this short story, I’ve still not settled on whether the storytelling is for the earth child or the angel or we who are no longer either. Yet, our link in the story is both ethereal and mortal and what happens to one is experienced by the other.

“The Archangels, GOD’s Chief Seraphs, are given HIS CALL to assemble Guardian Angels numbers 103 through 130; celebrated in Heaven as GAs. Without delay the GAs gather and flutter about as they await the call. Their wings create a torrent of air that causes the smallest among them to cast about as they fight to maintain their position in the flock. Hovering outside the cluster, imperfect wings and all, is GA~105. His thought is to wonder why an inept novice like himself has been included in God’s Call…”

Dear Reader: This story is an invitation to discover your Heaven and Earth!

Find How Angels Fly on Amazon – Now in paperback and Kindle!

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“WHAT IF…”

WHAT IF Earths-Inner-Core-has-an-Inner-Core-of-its-Own-700x325GOD IS & SATAN IS?

This is not a religious question that I ask because each of us knows our faith in countless diversity. As well, centuries of wars are still being fought over religion in order to establish which of humankind GOD favors more. So this then leads me to ask: where is Satan and Lucifer, the leader of the fallen angels, in this holocaust? I imagine in good spirits as they observe the limitless human race move violently to declare and/or rescue our essence.

We humankind—at our nativity—receives a gift in the form of free will. This CHOICE allows us to decide on or prefer—and I presume not always reflect on—the impact our transactions may or will have on others. Then there is our own soul to consider: our genuine core. And always there is death and none are given their day or time or reason. So our life story is written in each second that we take a breath without knowing if after that another will follow.

Some say they have seen the after-life and I cannot deny their claims. For what is truth for one is not truth for another. Perhaps that is why we humankind continue to hate what we cannot believe and why wars are fought to force belief on others. We are, after all, human beings searching for truth; but my question is: Whose?

AND ALL THE WHILE GOD AND SATAN WATCH

“ME…IN THE AGING MIRROR…”

mirror1Over the last few years I’ve been on a hell-of-a-ride that, by a whisker, I live to tell their tale. The reason I begin my blog this way is to inform that not even the word grateful depicts how I feel to be alive: in the truest sense of that word—living. In the before I was appreciative; now I know life to be in the hands of each moment. Sure, I still plan and anticipate and hope because, well because I’m here. Yet, the feelings behind the words hell-of-a-ride are still brittle. When they strengthen I’ll tell their story.

Today follow me into the Aging Mirror… At my age I tend not to look into any mirror, let alone one with the word aging in it. But in spite of this confession, stick with me because I have a feeling we will both learn something. First I must set the stage for my mirror: Father Time and Circumstances. The Supporting Actors: experience, knowledge, right place/wrong time, troubles, second chances and intentions.

My childhood: Italian Father/English Mother and the associated forty-two first cousins may make clear my mad desire to record/write/blog whatever I observed or experienced. My first writings are in a red plastic diary with a small silver key and today books and blogs and life stories. When young I took no notice of time fleeting. But these days I ask Mother Earth to slow the milliseconds without upsetting gravity.

As to looking into the aging mirror these days; well that is a Horse of a Different Color. As Dorothy discovered in the Wizard of Oz she’d had the choice to return to Kansa all along; just a click of her Ruby Red Slippers. The analogy here for me is that when I look into the aging mirror these days I too have an option. I can choose to look away from what time has created or I can look with admiration at the woman I’ve fought to become. It isn’t what I see in the mirror—it is instead what is reflected back.

“TO BE OR NOT TO BE IS THE QUESTION…”

Whether or not William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon wrote or did not write the works attributed to him—as some claim—does not in my mind cast a shadow of a doubt that “The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark or HAMLET for short, dates between 1599 & 1602 and is a masterpiece of betrayal—a  blog for another day.

Today is about the phrase from Hamlet “…to be or not to be” that we the people persist saying to this day. Yet how or when the words is the question” were added to the phrase I cannot say. Perhaps the answer is in the play itself or in our need to find answers for questions that are unanswerable.

As in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, life and death is still in the balance of how we humankind are to be or not to be. Our energy is intensifying and we look to Mother Earth who looks back and asks us: to be or not to be? Generations of those who built a solid steadiness we counted on weep at our breakdown. Malevolent and Noble continually cross swords to assure a win and the people cry out: to be or not to be. Children, being children, sense the MIGHT of the swords and reach for a sanctuary. The Statue of Liberty—a gift to America from the people of France—stands in bewilderment at her role to be or not to be.

The older word Musing means thought or reflection or deliberation and broadcasts to the world…TO BE OR NOT TO BE IS THE QUESTION!

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