The Matriarch's Stories - Utah

They are immense in size, ponderous in their various shapes, mute to human ears, yet clearly audible to anyone stopping long enough to listen to their stories. They stand as guardians and sentinels looking out across hundreds of miles of landscape. Some are massive with gray colors, their faces shrouded in shadows. Others are thin elongated spires, dancing across the terrain like wild Dakinis. "They" are the towering matriarchal stones that tell unabridged stories of how they came into being, born more than 525 million years ago in earth time.  

There are many ways to trek through Arizona and Utah's National Parks. You can go by tour bus or by car - stopping at scenic overlooks. Or, you can hike the trails that lead you off the beaten path. Hiking takes you into the realms where the Matriarchs live undisturbed. Away from the constant drone of chattering tourists the silent dowagers speak. Three protectors stood watch, staring out over a vast curtain of limestone shaped like a pipe organ. The official park brochures called them "The Three Gossips" a designation demeaning to the elegant bearing of these towering shapes where one was crowned with an Egyptian headdress and another looked like a Mayan priestess. Others, surrounding the Three Matriarchs, looked like grandmothers lounging in conversation.  

In the cathedrals where they stood, these story-tellers held us enthralled. They possessed a consciousness of stability, of foundation, and of solidity, waiting for humans to arrive on the planet to appreciate their old stories. Climbing atop a large outcropping we sat with the grandmothers for quite some time. We listened as they told us of the winds which howled through the canyons eroding their ancestors and creating soil. They pointed out the remnants of waterways that had carved their shapes over geological time turning them into vivid shades of reds, ochres and oranges. Eons of lightning strikes had shattered or blackened some of the Matriarchs, allowing the space for the arrival of the plant kingdom. Flowering plants clung to small ledges, flourishing in the rocky arms of these mother stones. And still The Matriarchs stood, carefully watching over the earth.   

The Matriarchs, left behind after the oceans that covered the land evaporated, told us the creation story. We sat on a petrified dome that once was an ancient sea bed, listening as the shrieking winds blew cold air across us. The Sentinels said they were the earth - the foundation and container of all land. They witnessed the days of Genesis when the land was water and the light came and sky was formed. Though they were solid and immobile, they watched and patiently waited as plants grew in their dust, creating food for the animals and humans that would some day live on the land.  

Millions of years went by in the time all this happened. Over the eons, they saw their towering ancestors become rolling hills and valleys covered with grains and grasses. They knew that the similar monstrous stones of Zion would some day have the same fate. But between the heights of the Zion stones and the valleys of the reservations, they would become the lacy spires and arches of Bryce that draw humans from all over the world to appreciate them.  

As we sat on the slickrock the evidence of the continuity of life was all around us. Even though epochs had come and gone, still there was life. No matter how much the elements had altered the landscape, life continued. When flooding waters receded leaving only dry sand dunes, life emerged again. No matter how harsh the circumstances, a flowering plant lived. And amid all the grandeur of nature and creation, a magnificent spirit was present.

As the Matriarchs' Story came to an end, they asked one question, "What will humans do?" The question was not unexpected, for indeed, what will humans do? The teachings of the mystics of the far east tell us to study and learn from nature in order to understand our spiritual being. The message in every mystical text is clear: To know God go to nature. The Matriarchs of Bryce, Zion, Canyonlands and Arches also know this and teach it to anyone willing to spend time with them.   

Our parks are a national treasure with each one telling a unique story. If humans care to listen. Politicians with foresight created them. Now, it's in our hands to continue a legacy of protection for generations to come. Or through complacency and ignorance destroy the story of creation. But assuredly, not if the Grandmothers of Mother Earth have anything to say about it! For the spirit of all life lives through the stones and after 14 billion years, they will prevail.

Jo Mooy - August 2014 

Ice-Cream Jane

After a lazy three hour drive Patricia and I arrived in Mount Dora, a small lakefront "destination" town about thirty miles northwest of Orlando. We'd been hearing about Mount Dora for a few years. Friends described it as "Victorian, quaint, artsy, antiques and charming." So, with our seminars and retreats completed for the season, we took an overnight trip to the area arriving in time for lunch at a scenic restaurant overlooking Lake Dora, the town's claim to fame.

This journal is not about the "Victorian, quaint, artsy, antique" sights of Mount Dora which we found trite. But in order to set the stage for Ice Cream Jane, the town should be portrayed. It's a tourist town filled with endless rows of gift shops displaying kitschy items. The only shop that enticed us to enter was the Used Book Store. The single Victorian building we found was the Masonic Lodge which unfortunately was closed. It might have been interesting to tour it.

After walking the few streets in the humid hot afternoon, we felt we'd made a big mistake coming to Mount Dora. What were we missing about this town? Especially as so many rated it very highly. So, we went looking for an ice cream store to ponder the question. There were only two seats next to an elderly woman who sized us up, decided we were OK, and patted to the two seats.

The Ice Cream Shop Mt Dora

It's hot out there we remarked sitting down, though the heat was not bothering her with an over-sized dish of ice cream in front of her and an umbrella imprinted with miniature hot-air-balloons hanging on her chair. She looked like a "local" so we asked her "What do you do here?" Momentarily perplexed by the question, she replied with a laugh, "I live here!" as though that explained everything. She was beautiful with an engaging but serene presence. Her snow-white hair pulled back in a bun framed her sparkling blue eyes. With nothing calling us outside the ice cream shop and by silent agreement, we let the conversation evolve. It soon became clear why we'd come to Mount Dora. It was to meet Ice Cream Jane.

Not knowing her age I addressed her as Miss Jane. She was a triplet, born in Pennsylvania, to parents with nine children. She was an identical twin with JoAnne while Judy was a fraternal sister. She told us the story of meeting her husband who was an only child. She found that amusing and odd that he was an only child yet married into such a large family. Everything she told us was punctuated with a follow up comment like "Don't you think so?" or "Have you ever heard anything like that?" enchanting and thus engaging her audience further.

She was a school teacher fifty years ago but had to quit teaching because of

Miss Jane

"those kids in the sixties." We told her we were "those kids" but she waved that comment aside with a merry laugh. Instead, she told us she'd gotten a degree in nursing and switched careers. She told us proudly about her successful children - lawyers and teachers. She came to Mount Dora five years ago after her husband of 59 years died. And in Mount Dora she knew every shop owner and restaurant owner along with the history of the town.

Before ending any part of her story, she inquired about our lives. Her questions always related in some way to her own story. I began to notice synchronicities between some of her life events and ours. She did too, commenting on it frequently. I asked her, "Miss Jane, do you believe in synchronicity?" Without missing a beat she said, "Sometimes, but not all things are synchronous." Pursuing the opening I asked her to explain. She said "Some things just happen; some things get put in your path; some things you have to figure out; some things are a sign." Warming to the topic the old sage said, "You'll know!"

Soon it was time for us to leave. But I wanted to ask her one more question. "What life lesson would you leave for your grand-children or great-grandchildren." She grew quiet for a moment and then said, "Be kind. Be kind."

We fully expected to say goodbye at the door of the ice-cream shop. But Miss Jane wanted to accompany us to our car which was several blocks away. She opened the umbrella up over her head and began to walk with us, telling us more stories about her life. When we reached the car she saw the Namaste bumper sticker and inquired about it. When I explained that it meant, "the Divine in me honors the Divine in you!" and how the people in India greet one another with a hand over the heart, a slight bow of the head, and the word "Namaste" she cooed in delight. "I love that," she said over and over.

Standing by our car, I bowed to Miss Jane, put my hand over my heart, and said, "Namaste." Tears welled up in both of our eyes. She took our hands in hers and said, "Today has been my favorite day of all time. I'm glad you came into my life today." It was hard to keep the tears back.

As we drove away, we saw Miss Jane, twirling her hot-air-balloon umbrella over her head as she walked towards the lake. We knew Miss Jane was why we'd come to Mount Dora and Miss Jane might be why you would consider a trip to Mount Dora. For a sage walks those streets under a hot-air-balloon umbrella.     

Jo Mooy - July 2014    

Enlightened Beings

Enlightened Beings  

Recently, I was asked to participate in a study called "What Is An Enlightened Being?" As I reviewed the questions in the study I realized how much my opinions  on the topic have changed. Thirty years ago, without hesitation, I would have answered that an enlightened being is a Bodhisattva, one who has reached the ultimate state of purity yet delays that passage in order to alleviate the suffering of humanity. But now, many years and many miles on the journey, I answered the questions quite differently.

Everyone on the spiritual journey aspires to become "enlightened" some day. It seems to always be "the goal." For surely, if we achieve enlightenment it will change everything about ourselves and about the world we live in. Once we start walking the path of a spiritually attuned life, we attend classes and seminars that satisfy our need to become "enlightened." We read books devoted to mysticism; we learn about the value of meditation; and we practice diligently. The esoteric teachings support us by saying that if we do those things and apply ourselves to the noble path, we too can become a Bodhisattva - or at the very least an Arhat. Teachers say it could happen instantly (rare) or it could happen after several thousand incarnations (much more likely.)

As I explored the questions posed in the study I focused on my personal journey. I'd followed a spiritual path for more than 40 years. In that time I studied with some very well-known and some not so well-known mystical teachers. The not so well-known teachers had as much influence (sometimes more so) in my development as some of the very well-known ones. A not so well-known teacher told me what I'd be doing with my life at ages 40, 50, 60 and 70. She was right for the first three decades. (I haven't reached the last one yet.)  So, I wondered, was she enlightened? Or, did she plant a seed that caused me to do what she said in the time-frame she'd indicated. This much I know!  She kindled a blaze a long time ago that allowed me seek the answers that I was now trying to decipher about enlightened beings.

Some self-realized masters said they were enlightened. There's probably little disagreement that Buddha, Paramahansa Yogananda, and Jesus were enlightened beings. But what if I toss in a few others that might alter your belief systems. Does Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Einstein, Darwin, Saladin, DaVinci, Gandhi, Akbar the Great, Nikola Tesla, Mao Zedong, and King Darius of Persia to name a few, qualify? They were warriors and conquerors, scientists and peacemakers, but should they be considered enlightened beings? I now think so because they had purpose, conviction, and a focus on their life's goal. And, they had a global impact on their fellow humans.

But what about normal people who don't have a global impact? I realized my current beliefs had changed and those changes caused these questions to rise to the top. Is anyone I know enlightened? Or, is everyone I know enlightened? I shelved the first one after a few hours of review. But the second question stayed, creating even more questions. Why wouldn't everyone be enlightened? After all, each person is a spark of the pure 'ultimate reality' we refer to as "God." If "It" is the ultimate in enlightenment then each of us must also be enlightened. Except in the vastness of consciousness, each of us is in differing states of realizing it. Therefore, I concluded, everyone is enlightened to varying degrees.  And that enlightenment affects the whole.

So, "What is an enlightened being?" When I got to the summary question on the survey I answered it this way. Today, I believe an "enlightened being" is one who lives a conscious life daily. These individuals have great awareness of their fellow humans. They are conscious of their words and actions and how it affects those fellow humans.  They are conscious of the food they eat and how it affects their spirit and their bodies. They are conscious of the individuals they associate with and wisely choose to be among those who uplift their spirits.  They make daily time for meditation and reflection.  They are more in tune with silence and nature.  And they choose to walk their path with ethical dignity and perseverance.

These individuals, no matter how great or small their circle of influence, travel their chosen path with focused consciousness and full awareness. They are "beings of enlightenment" who live a conscious, purpose-driven life. They hold a brilliant beacon of light that illumines the way for all of us who are also walking up to the top of mountain. To them we are indebted.    

Jo Mooy - June 2014

MT Shasta On It's Own Terms

Mt Shasta On It's Own Terms   

Stories abound that 14,000 foot Mt. Shasta in California is "the" place to visit if

Mt Shasta

you're on a spiritual quest. Many consider it akin to a sacred pilgrimage to go to the mountain because on the mountain one is sure to experience UFO's, Ascended Masters, Lemurians or Atlanteans, the White Brotherhood, Elders, Crystal Cities, Vortexes and every New Age idea you can imagine. And so, we did our own research about Mt Shasta, called "spiritual leaders" and tour guides living there, then investigated everything we were told. 

Some of what we were told felt prickly; a few were clearly selling tours; and some we talked to were downright incorrect. One person gave us useful information about dry conditions and fire hazards and said, "Go to the Visitor's Center before doing anything else."  That was worthwhile!

Panther Meadows Springs

For decades we've read all the stories about sightings and vortex energy spots and "beings" appearing here and there on the mountain. Those things are still very important to many who visit the area as they clearly want to see or feel that which they've read about. But we left all that behind as it was no longer relevant to what we wanted to experience. We decided to visit the mountain without guides or any preconceived ideas and allow Mt Shasta to speak to us On Its Own Terms. This is that story.

The town is about 7 miles to the trail-head of the mountain which dominates the skyline. The town is very small with not much to show for such a major destination. We used the Best Western as a base for the surrounding area because of its location and convenient restaurant. Especially as most restaurants in town were closed by the time we came down the mountain. 

With the map provided by the  Visitor's Center and a small guide-book created by local shops as a form of advertising we set off on our own expedition.  After passing

Grandmother Ponderosa

a few campsites we walked well-marked trails leading up the mountain. Its year-round snow covered face looms over all approaches like a watchful guardian. 

The climb is demanding but spectacular. At 7,500' the trail opened to an extraordinary meadow filled with brilliantly colored flowers. The border of the meadow was surrounded by tall firs and pines. It was like stepping into an Impressionistic painting and becoming part of the scenery. With no one else around we reverently breathed the serene pure feelings of Panther Meadows in homage to the mountain. Then we heard the sound of running water and soon discovered it was a spring bubbling above and below the meadow. The Native American Wintu tribe believe humans first bubbled into creation at this spring. It was easy to agree with that because the meadow made us feel we'd stumbled upon the water kingdom in the Garden of Eden.

Everything on the mountain felt immense, historical, grand in scope, and waiting to tell a story. As we continued to climb the mountain we entered groves of towering 180' Ponderosa Pines. They grew in circles with the long dead great-grandmother tree stumps standing witness to the newer growth of daughter and grand-daughter trees. Respecting the burnt out shells of the ancient trees, we placed stones found at their base into a circle and entered a meditative communion with the trees. The sweet smells of the trees carried on the winds of the air kingdom as we gently chanted to the glory of what they had been and what they'd left as a legacy.   

Spring Source

We continued to climb above the tree line, meeting only one or two people on the trail. Eventually we entered the domain of the lava fields of volcanic stone deposited over centuries of eruptions. Here the mineral kingdom was displayed in its most base condition. Fire and explosions had formed the mountain with the deposits of rocky stones leaving a visible imprint of the power of earth, creation, and destruction. The now cold stones left a crunching wide path across the face of the mountain begging for visitors to reflect on what the fire kingdom had created there above the tree line. We did.

This visit to Mt Shasta was a reverent tribute. So, what did it share  with us during those days on the mountain? As if aware that someone was really listening, it conveyed its 593,000 year old life story. Observant of what it was showing, we

Lava Fields

experienced its extremes in temperatures - warm below and cold above. We felt the heat retained in the enormous boulders we leaned on even as the air cooled us. We drank ice-cold water from its pure springs while butterflies danced around us. While walking its many trails it shared its violent volcanic past while regaling us with its present peaceful beauty. In its groves and meadows and lava fields it told us stories of death and resurrection and death again. It reminded us of the ever changing cycles of nature and that nothing is permanent. And it suggested that in this natural cathedral, all the history of the earth could be found, including the arrival of humans from its watery depths.

We met the mountain on its own terms and were well served in what she revealed: The majesty of life, death, rebirth and continuity!

      

Jo Mooy - May 2014    

By Her Grace

By Her Grace 

When you've been with a loved one a long time you think you know everything about them. You're quite sure there's nothing left to learn about the person. Then

Teaching @ Women's Retreat

'life' tosses some curve-ball causing you to pause in the daily routines you share and look at the person in a completely new way. It happened to me when Patricia suffered her second retinal detachment in three weeks requiring a second emergency surgery.

This surgery was much more complicated and painful than the first and the instructions for her recovery period considerably more difficult. This time she had to lie face down 24/7 for ten days. She was allowed a five minute break each hour to stand up or walk around (face down) to relieve the stresses on her back. And, she had to endure a regimen of four different eye drops every few hours, some which painfully burned the beleaguered eye.

Throughout the endless days of her face-down recovery I watched how she reacted to the current challenges in front of her. She accepted the routine as necessary so she would "not have to do this a third time." I already knew she had inner strength and fortitude and would bring those qualities to bear during this ordeal. But I learned so much more. Especially that this was a woman who not only talked the talk, but walked it in a disciplined manner.

Leading Meditations

Most everyone reading this knows she's an accomplished meditation leader. You also know her as a selfless spiritual teacher and dedicated energy healer. I watched as she summoned every one of those resources that she teaches so well, and used them hourly in her personal healing process. Unable to read, she asked me to load her MP3 player with the 10-day discourses of Sri Goenka who taught us Vipassana meditation. Face-down at the dining table or a massage chair donated by a friend, she listened to his uplifting talks each day for a few hours, recalling for me the insights she was relearning. She used those insights as lessons in personal healing or perseverance.

Never a belly sleeper, she had to spend each night on her stomach, face down. I saw her deal with this added challenge in a most relaxed manner. With the theme of Living a Conscious Life from our recent Women's Retreats still fresh in her mind, she invoked what she'd been teaching to so many women over those weekends. Once again she turned on the MP3 player to listen to her own recordings of Yoga Nidra practices as she went to sleep. Sometimes, she'd fall asleep at the "third finger of the right hand" and wake up three hours later hearing her fourth Yoga Nidra recording.

During the ten days she was face-down I learned about her remarkable grace, patience, calm, and caring. Caring that I was doing all the work! Caring that the healing emails that she received daily for those in need would be placed in the Reiki Prayer Box and sent out to the Healer's Network. Caring that those who were praying for her or sending get well cards were personally thanked. Her patience with

Thank you, Steve Jobs

her current situation also had no limits.  (If I'd been in her place I'm not sure I would have handled this as gracefully as she was.)  For she never complained; never once bemoaned the experience; never levied blame; and accepted it all with poise and grace. Even her humor was intact when she commented one day, "This must be what the nuns meant by offering it up."

I also learned about her resilience and ever-present technical abilities. She tried watching TV with one good eye by looking at the screen through a mirror; except the TV image was upside down. She gracefully lived with that for several days. One evening, I attempted to ease her hours of boredom by describing a magnificent sunset occurring over the lake. Using the mirror to see the sunset she had a brilliant insight. Directing me to move the massage chair from facing the TV to facing the opposite wall, she had me position a larger mirror on a chair. In short order she'd figured out that by turning her back to the TV, the mirror now showed the image right side up. She thanked the Universe for the beautiful sunset that allowed her to now watch TV right side up for a few hours a day. This technical insight was followed by another. Sitting at the glass dining table, her head down on a pillow, she discovered she could see through the glass. With that, she actually thanked Steve Jobs for inventing the flat tablet so she could check her emails with 

Can't keep a good woman down!

an Ipad propped on her lap.

 

Watching her lie face down for so many hours I asked her what was she thinking about during this time.  She said, "Many things.  But mostly this has caused me to stay in the present moment.  I see patterns on the floor that I never saw before. I feel a breeze coming in the window that I may have been distracted from before - so I pay attention to the breeze. I found that I'm simply staying in the present moment - no where else."  She continued, "I'm grateful for what happened because it's made me appreciate more the gift of vision, the gift of seeing differently, and the gift of perspective."

John Lennon said, "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." That happened to us.  Those "Life" conditions that we experience or endure are the real markers of a person's character. Because, they hone the qualities that make us humans. And in the throes of adversity, the realindividual is created and known. With new eyes of respect and awe, I witnessed the radiance of Patricia emerge from a potentially calamitous condition and resolve itself,By Her Grace.

 

Jo Mooy - April 2014 

Illness - It's Not Your Fault

Illness - It's Not Your Fault! 

At some point in our lives, we'll get sick. It may be a simple cold or something moredire. After a month in India, I came home with a severe upper respiratory infection that felled me for six weeks. I wrote an article about that experience called The Zen of an Illness

 published in the August 2013 issue of Drunvalo Melchizidek's Spirit of Maat

. 

 

I tried to figure out the cause of that illness and why it had happened to me. After lots of soul-searching I stopped the investigation, gave myself permission to not work, and allowed myself the freedom and time to heal from the illness. I did nothing but molt in the house. Then came this insight - "It's Not Your Fault!" That phrase allowed me to be at peace in the best therapeutic healing I've ever done!

But illness surfaced again this month, when Patricia suffered a retinal detachment requiring emergency hospital surgery. The questions about what caused this to happen and why did it happen, began again. But this time it was different. The 'new age' community and especially the self-appointed 'spiritual experts' assessed the "blame-shame-game." These well-intentioned 'experts' state that whatever happens is because "You obviously manifested it!" Then they follow up with the question,"What are you not seeing?"

Those tired and worn out expressions of what can happen to good people are useless - especially in this time of consciousness waking up. It serves no purpose to blame the victim for carrying the message. And illness is a message. With the metaphor of eyesight, we decided to "see" what's happening with new eyes?  We realized it's not what you don't see - it's what you DO see! For there is always something much greater transpiring behind all mundane physical appearances. And those committed to the spiritual path are in the vanguard of a new consciousness that begs us to see and disseminate the more expansive messages.

In the case of Patricia, she has never seen images in meditation. She gets feelings or impressions. But after the retina detached she had to remain immobile for hours and sleep upright for six weeks.. With one eye bandaged and the other one constrained, her third eye opened up. Suddenly she was seeing imagery and colors in ways she'd never experienced before. She began to receive insights that would not have come prior to the retina detaching. And great teachings were impressed upon her from those insights. Then just as remarkable, she immediately received confirmation on the insights from the most unusual sources.

We quickly understood that illness or adversity must be looked at from a different perspective. A friend saw the detached retina from 'the new perspective.' She posted on Facebook that Patricia was a "Visionary who was seeing in a new way." This prompted well-known channel Gail Swanson to deliver a Valentine's Day message to us. While personally meaningful, this message needed to be directed to all those with physical illnesses or challenges. 

 

In an altered state, Gail was shown what physical challenges really mean and it's big. Those who carry a great light are here as spiritual warriors and alchemical masters. She said, "Any process of suffering carries within it the opportunity for an initiation of the highest order." She continued, "All is happening at the highest level and in a divine way. Though circumstances take these physical warriors to the brink of what they can bear, they use their will to rise up. This is their sacred, holy, and magnificent alchemical power acting selflessly on behalf of all of us."

To set the holiness of that revelation, I published the channel's insight with others. My inbox lit up like the fourth of July. One friend wrote about her father's journey in a nursing home and rehab center. She explained that she "has no control over anything except how she chooses to allow the events with her father to affect her." She's gone through the experience with him for three months and she now sees how he helps the workers who are caring for him. Some of them told her that "because of your father I want to get up and go to work because I see the difference I make in someone's life." Her father Al, an alchemical spiritual master in the end days of his life, (though as he says not planning to leave anytime soon) reminds us that the work we do (in illness) is good, is meaningful, and is valuable to someone.

Others validated the new insights. One saw "the connectedness of all within the Cosmic Mind and the symbolic sacrifices on behalf of all." Another said "reading it brought tears to my eyes as, relieved of blame, I witnessed a great initiation regarding illness." Still another said, "We can't see the big picture as we collectively release fear and guilt. Grace to those who carry the light as they missed 'the bullet of illness' and prayers for those who are ill so that they will carry the illness without fear, without blame and without guilt." These revelations and insights are the universal gifts bestowed by the spiritual alchemists!

With those words, remember this! It's Not Your Fault when illness strikes. Rather, it is your divinely chosen path as an alchemical master. What you are experiencing is being done on the highest levels of service. And from that illness, you and others in your circle of influence, will express release, redemption, and thanksgiving for the experience. For the work the alchemists do frees all of us to look at adversity with new eyes. What better insight is there?

Jo Mooy - March 2014  

Chasing Fireflies

Chasing Fireflies   

   

Every new year we engage in 'the resolution ritual.'  As this window of

time opens, we re-imagine what we want the year to be and how we plan to change.  It doesn't matter that we did the same thing a year ago. Eagerly the stuff we no longer care about is wiped away, replaced by the annual dreams of new beginnings.  Much like chasing fireflies we rocket to the new, next, best thing, convinced that this year things will be so much different.  And we'll follow through.  By the end of January, whatever we said we were going to do is placed on the shelf and forgotten until the next new year.

With such vast amounts of information and technology literally available at our fingertips, it's easy to turn to others for answers.  And because access to information, technology and sophistry is now in the hands of individuals it's very easy to be unduly influenced by someone else.  This transfer of information from institutions to individuals has created false prophets along with people who are addicted to instant gratification.  Today, anyone with "internet knowledge" can wrap a storyline into a nice package, use buzzwords or phrases that evoke a simpatico connection, and become compelling to spiritual seekers.

When a new, bright firefly appears on the horizon, there's a headlong rush to seek out and get answers that can otherwise be obtained through quiet self-reflection. But that's usually too hard. Seldom do individuals investigate the storyline, the prophet, or even what's published on the internet.  Why?  Because chasing fireflies is so much easier!  Instead, they let someone else lead them, confirm their beliefs and fantasies, or tell them what they want to hear.  There's no discernment or investigation used.  They surrender themselves and ignore their innate guidance system, convinced someone else has the answers to what they seek.   The wisdom achieved by investing time on a topic and the experiences learned while pursuing the topic are seldom valued.  And sadly, as individuals chase the latest and brightest firefly they reinforce the conviction that the answers are outside of themselves instead of within.

When he was a boy, Paramahansa Yogananda ran away from home to find God in the Himalayas.  He and two companions walked miles to find Guru Ram Gopal known as the "sleepless saint" who was always in an ecstatic state of God Consciousness.  When Ram Gopal heard what Yogananda wanted he told him, "What one does not trouble to find within will not be discovered by transporting the body hither and yon.  Go home, go within, and meditate."

As 2014 of the 21st Century unfolds, we might be able to reshape the landscape of our wishes if we intentionally resolve to be vigilant and discerning about what we're wanting.  But more importantly, consider strongly the outside influences that are shaping us.  During the annual ritual when wishes, desires, and resolutions are contemplated and put into action, perhaps we can stop chasing other fireflies and commit to using our own inner guidance. 

If that simple suggestion to Yogananda to "

go home, go within and meditate" were put into practice, would we need some new person with rehashed or same old ideas to tell us what to do?  Or more importantly, what we already know?

How about a commitment to chase the firefly within US?  What if that firefly was allowed to take shape?  Imagine a species believing in ideals that benefit all other sentient beings!  Imagine healings being done by the individual, for the individual without a "middle-man!"  Imagine a system where the inner light from one firefly reflects outward igniting all others!  The personal, uplifting stories that would come from that dazzle the imagination!

Remember: the Inner Firefly is the one, true, and ultimate guide that unfailingly gives us the best answers to everything that we seek.  It alone reveres the soul and illuminates the imagination.  What a concept during this month of love, Fireflies!

   

 

Jo Mooy - February 2014

Light and Dark

The Light & The Dark  

     

There's a foreboding and pervasive feeling of darkness in the land.  Yes, there's a normal increase in darkness during December when the sun is far south in the northern hemisphere. But this ominous shroud of darkness goes way beyond the seasonal change.  Darkness permeates ordinary conversations between friends causing short-tempered or angry responses.  The Light of Respect and Good Manners is depleted as sinister or one-dimensional agendas reign over reasoned discourse that would benefit the whole.  In this darkness, one cannot rationally assess any points of an argument due to the din of many voices speaking over one another.  Dark blame is everywhere and always levied on someone else because "they" are wrong and "we" are right.

But as long as we remain dependent on blaming someone else, or remain entangled in the murky tentacles of right or wrong, the fault is ours alone!  Individuals, seasoned in the work of the Light, have a responsibility to join again in reasoned and wholesome conversation on the issues that divide us.  Or the darkness will obliterate the goodness that we are for another season.  It's difficult to imagine that we've progressed much beyond the words of Thomas Paine in 1776, "These are the times that try men's souls."  But he also said if  'sunshine patriots' did not shrink from service they would be deserving of the love and thanks of all men and women.

Lightworkers are the sunshine patriots!  That is the essence of what they are and can be during these dark times that try our souls.  When it appears that the darkness has risen stronger than the light; when it appears that caring for the poor, the elderly, for children, and those in need is a sign of weakness; when it appears that rational thinkers and moderate people have gone mute, then must the 'sunshine patriots' rise up in service.

We have extraordinary ways to turn the Dark Into Light.  Ignore the seductive dark clamor that envelops the airwaves of our daily lives.  Hold tight to the values of compassion and caring for others.  Embrace any ideals that empower you to live your life as a better person.  Summon the support of those who share your views.  And recognize that all people, all places, and all things on this earth have a life cycle of rising up and falling away.  It is a law of nature that declares what is born today must die tomorrow.

December 21st is the longest day of darkness in the year.  Yet, after a few short moments of stillness, the sun begins its migration back to the northern hemisphere and the dark days begin to recede.  Within six months, (not even a nanosecond in Cosmic time,) the opposite occurs.  Just as it feels darkness is forever, light returns.  The pendulum of Light and Dark is always in balance, rising and falling, though we get trapped in believing otherwise.

It's so much easier to live in the balance point of that rising and falling wisdom described by the Buddha.  The 'sunshine patriots' can always endure from a place of Light and Wholesomeness!  That place holds a much gentler feeling to it and creates less disharmony and stress on the being. Without any attachments to the illusions, this work can be done!  For at the end of each season, the Dark must become Light and the Light must become Dark.   Each one rising and falling according to the time allotted.  It is the law and it is in balance.  For in the end, this too shall pass away giving rise to something newer!

Jo Mooy - December 2013

Grandmother Protectors

The Grandmother Protectors 

     

We'd just returned from a lengthy hike. Sitting down to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, our ears picked up a soft moaning wail. It was a sound that felt strangely misplaced in a California State Park filled with families laughing and happily enjoying summer vacations. We looked around for the source of the sound. Then we saw him.

A little boy with light colored hair stood with the front of his body pressed against a giant Ponderosa pine. The tree dwarfed him. He rubbed his teary eyes through his sobs. My first thought, (rather, it was the one I wanted to believe) was that he was somehow communicating with the tree. We had done the same thing by hugging one of the towering trees earlier on our hike.  But that notion was quickly dispelled. The little boy was being punished. The events that happened over the next thirty minutes not only confirmed it but has left an indelible imprint on my psyche.

His family, a collection of variously aged generations, was eating a well spread out lunch at a picnic table near the tall tree. All of them ignored the child. But we couldn't. After a while his sobs subsided and he began to look around though he never left the tree. Then his mother got up. At last, I thought, she's going to bring him to the picnic table with the rest of the family. But that wasn't her plan. She went to the little boy, slapped him hard across the back, twisted his arm, shoved his face into the tree, and pushed him to his knees. His sobs began again louder than before.

We were stunned by her behavior. But my partner sprang to life, announcing "this is child abuse" and went to get the park ranger. As she strode into the office area the mother went to the restroom near where I was sitting. I decided to confront her when she came out. As I stood in front of her, I noticed her face was splotchy and angry, her hair disheveled, and she seemed tormented. I told her I'd seen how she treated the little boy and surely there must be another way. She replied that she would not tolerate his misbehavior. I asked her what memories she wanted this child to carry into his life - one enjoying a family vacation or the abuse he was suffering at her hands. She stared at me defiantly, assessing how she'd answer. I said "there will come a time when you'll wish to hold this child in your arms instead of smashing him into a tree."

Perhaps realizing there might be trouble brewing, she hurriedly moved away from me. Then I saw the entire family had gathered up their half-eaten lunches and were moving away from the area. Especially now that my partner had arrived with the Park Ranger in tow. Wondering about the little boy, (and secretly hoping they'd left him behind) I noticed his grandmother had retrieved him from the tree and was carrying him away in her arms.

In domestic situations like this something must be done. We confronted the issue by finding the Park Ranger who might be able to help. But there was something more to consider. The mother must have learned that behavior somewhere in her life in order to rain down such punishment on a defenseless child. And sadly, he was going back into that environment no matter what the Park Ranger did.

So we did what we knew to do. Going into the forest, we (two grandmothers) bowed our heads and appealed to the Goddess of the Forest and the Mother Earth Guardian of us all to protect that little boy. We prayed for peacefulness to surround his mother and we asked that his future days be blessed with harmony instead of hatred. We prayed that his own grandmother be there as a safety net while he was growing up.

It's been several months since witnessing that event in the state park. But not a day goes by that I don't think of the little boy crying into the tree. The image stays in my memory as a reminder to continue offering prayers not only for him but for all the children who suffer in this heinous way. And during this month of Thanksgiving I am keenly grateful for all the grandmothers who protect their grandchildren somehow, someway, from all who would harm their innocent souls.

Jo Mooy - November 2013

Walnuts And A Piano

Walnuts and a Piano

   

There's a rhythm to life. It's a musical quality that asks us to hear the cords and feel the vibration of sound that carry our emotions from the highs through the lows and back again. The recognition of this rhythm allows us to live in balance and to enjoy the music of life. 

This time of year always pulls at my heart and mind with sweet remembrances of the rhythm of childhood. Perhaps it's the blustery feel to the weather, the knowing that winter is soon to come, or a recognition of the gentle turn of the seasonal cycles. Certainly ancient cultures honored this time of year, the time of the thinning veils. The Celts honored it with ritual and the ceremonies of Samhain. This time of year creates an opening that allows for the fine tuning of my inner nature and with it, the ability to appreciate the song that became who I am.

Autumn is a time of preparation for the mysterious and sacred winter-time ahead. In California, where I grew up there wasn't a winter that was severe or dangerous, yet there was still something otherworldly about it.  It was a season of deeper inner silence.  During this time, as we made ready for the shorter days and longer, mysterious nights, we felt closer to something magical.  Of course, much of that magic revolved around that most sacred of children's holidays, Christmas.  Christmas required great preparation and just as the ancient people we had our own rituals that readied us the special time ahead.

One particular autumn shaped my life forever more. Our mom cooked good food that was as delicious as it was nutritious. In fall she prepared for the holidays by baking cookies - lots of them in a great variety of shapes, flavors and textures. Cookies are a treat that nourish us on so many levels. They bring joy to the taste buds, a lightness to the mind and a healing of the soul.

But the kind of baking our mom did required lots of ingredients and some were expensive and hard to come by in those days. So every October our family was packed into the car for an hour drive south of our home in San Jose to a place where the main north south road, highway 101 narrowed to 2 lanes and where towering black walnut trees lines the road. There we'd park the car as each of us were given burlap bags to fill with the green round pods that had dropped from the trees. These pods held the treasured meat that would in December become Russian tea cakes, one of Mom's specialties made only when the weather was cooler. I could almost taste them as I gathered my walnuts in my sack.

I knew the whole procedure by heart. I knew this movement of our life's musical movement well. When we got home my dad would lay 2x4s on the ground and nail them together to make a pen to hold the walnuts while the outer shells dried out in the sun for weeks. When they were ready to be hulled he took his large carpenter's hammer smashing the thick outer shell tossing them onto tin baking pans. Then each evening we'd all dig out the precious tasting walnut meat for the inevitable holiday baking to come. All of this lay in the depths of my psyche as we hunted for the round treasures hidden under the fallen leaves of the great old trees.

That particular year mom needed to use the restroom on our trek home from the walnuts. In that part of the world, on a blustery fall Sunday, there weren't too many options for her. My father found a seedy looking bathroom on the outside of a dilapidated filling station where the gas attendant barely looked up as he pumped gas into our station wagon.  When mom came back to the car she was carrying a big leather purse which she didn't have when she left. She and my dad held a muted conversation but I caught snippets of it. "Someone left their purse..." "I don't feel right leaving it..." "Would you trust..." 

I think there were more walnuts to be had but something had changed and we headed home. The bags of walnuts were piled in the backyard forgotten now as we gathered round as mom and dad opened the purse tentatively. My parents were honest hard-working folks so we could see they felt like sneaks just opening the bag to see if there was some id in it. Even before they'd opened it there was talk of placing ads in the personals to see if the owner could be found. Each article was removed and placed carefully on the kitchen table, some tissue, a wallet, a comb, a huge diamond ring. Even to a kid's eye, you could tell this was very valuable, And then the one thing they had hoped to find, an address book which identified the owner.

They immediately called the number in southern California. The son answered and as soon as Dad told him what they'd found he was jubilant. His parents had called a few hours before, devastated that his mother had lost her purse. They looked everywhere, drove miles back retracing their stops to no avail so were cutting their trip short and coming home. He had no way to reach them until they arrived home as it was well before the time of cell phones. Instead he told my father that the ring was his mother's wedding ring and very valuable. It seemed she usually took it off when in the car as her fingers got swollen when she sat for long periods of time.

Arrangements were made to return the purse and everything in it was packed with great care. The next day it was mailed, insured and sent to a woman we had never met. When it arrived, the lady called, thanking my parents for their honesty and for their kindness. My parents assured them it was no problem, and not to give it a  second thought. I could tell by the smiles on my parent's faces that their reward was the warmth that comes with bringing great joy to someone and in this case someone they would never meet. Then the incident was forgotten and we went back to our rhythm, the walnuts were laid in the sunshine to dry, children went to school, fathers to work and mom kept the home fires burning.

A few days later, a letter arrived in it was a check for $300, a small fortune in 1961. It was a small token of their gratitude from the lady and her husband. The ring had been in the family for a very long time and was irreplaceable. My parents called them saying they couldn't accept it as they had only done what anyone would have, but the lady insisted. She said that many would not have returned it and that they had the money so it would was a pleasure to thank them. It turned out that was the amount of cash the woman had in her wallet when it was lost but my parents had never even looked in the wallet.

Mom wanted to use the money to pay bills and maybe buy nice Christmas gifts, but dad was adamant. "You are going to get something for yourself; something that will make you happy." A few weeks later, a used upright piano arrived. My mother who had learned to play as a child sat down and was in her element.

That Christmas there was music, real music, not from the radio but from our mother's fingers and from her heart. And much like the home baked cookies the music was sweet and nourished us in unseen ways, body mind and spirit. The piano reset the rhythm in our household and the music in our lives. This fall just like every other fall, I think of walnuts and a piano and how that came to be such an indelible memory in my life.

 

Patricia Cockerill - October 2013