$1801 Out of Nowhere

$1,801 Out of Nowhere

They blamed it on Wall Street. They blamed it on housing. They blamed it on cheapmortgages. And they blamed it on the lenders. In 2008, the entire world was caught in the grip of the "Great Recession." As banks failed and corporations closed their doors, middle class jobs evaporated. When the jobs disappeared there was no way to continue paying for the dream of home-ownership. Foreclosures soared 225% in 2008 with one in 54 homeowners receiving a notice.

This is the backdrop to a remarkable true story of courage, belief, and awe in the abundance of the universe. Let's call her Mary! Mary was the model of success. She traveled widely. Had a good job, owned her own home, and kept a decent savings account. Then 2008 happened. She lost her job and then the market crashed. She took the last of her money to return to school, then the real estate market crashed and her home of 20 years was foreclosed on. She had no where to turn.

 

She decided to move out of the area to live with a friend in another state who had offered her a place to stay till she got back on her feet. Anticipating the move, she made a list of all her financial obligations that had to be met before she could leave. The grand total was $1801 - an insurmountable figure. She told me, she practically fell apart in tears as there was no way she could borrow or get that amount of money. So, anticipating homelessness and in despair, she let it go and began cleaning out the last of her possessions.

A few weeks later she was going through a stack of mail that had been sitting on a table. There was an envelope with no return address on it. She thought it was junk mail and was about to throw it out when something said, "open it." Inside was a check in the amount $1,801. The check was electronically signed saying "Signature on file with the bank." She kept looking for some small print explaining this was really "junk mail" and not a check but it looked legitimate.

Finally she found an 800 number on the check and called what turned out to be a "check writing service." They confirmed it was a real check but would not give any info about the sender, telling her to cash the check. So she did. Several days later she remembered the list of obligations she'd made and connected the dots to the check.

She was determined to find out who sent the check so began her search. It was an odd amount for a "good Samaritan" to write, especially when she'd told no one about her needs. She wondered if there was an old account from her husband, or stocks she didn't know about. So she wrote a letter to the name and address printed on the check. The letter came back, "Return to Sender - Wrong Address." She looked up the name and city and tried to call. There was no phone listing for the name.

Mary told me she could not have settled her obligations nor made the move to another state without that check. How the exact amount came into her hands from out of nowhere continues to perplex her. When we talked about it I asked her whatshe'd been feeling. She said utter desperation and hopelessness. Then something came over her and she just released and let it go. She detached from everything that had happened since 2008 and heard the words, "What will be will be" in her head.

It was shortly after releasing her fears, that a check in the amount $1,801 From Out Of Nowhere, resolved $1,801 in financial obligations so she could begin her life anew. The abundance of the Universe, and her need for resolution came together in the realm of Quantum Physics known as The Field of Endless Possibilities.

 

Jo Mooy - April 2015

THE 13 CLANMOTHERS - THE CLARITY OF GREY

The Clarity of Grey

When 2015 arrived it seemed world events would ease a bit. But the geopolitical  predictions for the year pointed to more turmoil with extremists and terrorists of various persuasions running roughshod over others. How can this be? All over the world there are groups praying for peace, for a change in human hearts, or for a better way of life. Yet, their sparks of light get lost in all the dark and dreary events in the news. What can we do?

Reflecting on it one morning in meditation I heard a voice say, Summon the Clanmothers.  It seemed like the answer! Especially because this month is the Equinox - the seasonal point when the earth is covered with equal hours of sunlight and darkness. It's a cosmic point of balance for the earth, where extremes are harmonized. At the midpoint everything that is black or white becomes a neutral gray. In that moment The Clarity of Gray appears. It simply blends and neutralizes both extremes of black and white.

So, if the ancients considered the Equinoxes holy and sacred why not us? The word went out and the Clanmothers were summoned. One was a peacemaker. Three led  spiritual centers. One worked with the oceans and her inhabitants. A few taught "earth ways" in their practices while others led meditations. All of them responded to the call, knowing that on this day, in this season of balance, the sound of their prayers would fill the ether, and the discerning would hear it. They knew in this brief moment of balance, the extremes of black and white would neutralize for a few days, and they would influence the outcome.

The 13 Clanmothers represent aspects of the Divine Feminine - aspects ignored for 3000 years. The Divine Feminine kept the wisdom ways, told the stories, acted as a healer, counseled the afflicted, weaved and spun, prevented war and honored the visions. Each of the 13 Clanmothers was a matriarchal elder in ancient tribes. Each matriarch held the truths of the aspects. They performed the rituals and ceremonies, presiding over births and funerals. They were keepers of the names, dispensing them at birth and returning the name at death.

The Clanmother was not just the wisdom keeper but also the dispenser of justice. She would remove a Chief who did not follow the guidance of matriarch. She negotiated and harmonized all tribal disputes. Wars could not begin unless the Clanmother approved. She rose above the petty arguments and extreme positions, using her skills as peacemaker and mother to keep everything in balance. She was the epitome of The Clarity of Grey.

Each Clanmother is aligned with one of the 13 moons of the lunar. It's more natural because it acknowledges the feminine and lunar cycles. It logically assigns thirteen months of 28 days to the lunar calendar. This totals 364 days of the solar year. The extra day was one of celebration, honoring the year past and welcoming in a new year.

On the Equinox, the Clanmother acts as harmonizer for the earth and peacemaker for the people of extreme positions. She will take all extremes of black and white and blend them into the clarity of grey. She will insist that weapons of war and the voices of hate be sheathed as she summons peace upon the land. She sees far and weaves a web that raises humankind. For her duty is to hold a vision of hope, ease, and grace. But most of all she sees to the children who will live the vision of the 13th moon.

Jo Mooy - March 2015  

What's Love - Feb. 2015

“I love you so much, Moo Moo” he said, putting his arms around me and resting his head on top of mine. He was 15 years old when he said that - an age when most teenagers hardly utter a civil word to members of their family, much less express such a heart-felt emotion to a visiting grandmother. It was so unexpected I couldn't respond. So I just hugged him back, content in this moment of enjoying a grandson's surprise expression of love.

No longer interested in the video games they'd been playing for hours downstairs, he and his younger brother sat with me as others cleared the table from Thanksgiving dinner. They asked me questions about my childhood and where I'd grown up, laughing at some of the stories. I remembered for them each of their births, recalling how I'd raced two and a half hours across several states to see them when they were but hours old. It was no struggle to remember the dark haired infant that was now six feet tall standing next to me.

When just the three of us were alone, he asked me a question that revealed not just how much he'd grown but also portrayed the depth and maturity of who he was becoming. He asked me, “Moo Moo, is there anything that I did that you would not forgive me for?” I just looked at him, stunned by the question. I was not yet ready to answer him. My mind raced in countless directions, wondering why he asked that question of all questions. He returned my gaze quite easily so I asked him let me think about that a moment. He continued to stand there patiently waiting for my answer. His younger brother slid over to a chair closer to us, also intent on my answer. Because both brothers were very close I knew whatever I said would be later dissected and discussed in private.

After a moment of silent centering and an invocation for guidance, I told him that love and forgiveness were interchangeable pieces of the same emotion. I told him that I would always love him and his brother. That they might do things in life that could hurt many people, some of which might be judged unforgivable, but love would always be constant. “Like what?” he asked. Realizing I was letting a “teaching moment” get away, I took the plunge.

Here's a short list of some things that could badly hurt you along with the most important people in your life. These things damage your character or your body and would be hard to forgive because you have control over them. They moved closer. I held up my closed hand, listing each of four things with an outstretched finger. “Doing drugs. Misusing alcohol. Intentionally hurting others. Not sticking up for the underdog.” In unison they both said “We don't do drugs.” With one item cleared off the list I knew they'd be thinking about the other three for a while.

Both of them were quiet for a few minutes. Then the oldest one again put his arms around me and said, “So you would always love me?” Yes said I, but remember, the older you get, the longer the list gets. They hugged me and headed off to the next round of video games while I sat by the fire thinking about “What's Love?”

I went through a litany of things that I know Love is. Love is a chemical reaction. Love is compassion. Love is emotional commitment. Love is a magnetic binding. Love is service. Love is kindness. Love is a spiritual experience. Love is God. But on that Thanksgiving afternoon, Love was my 15 year old grandson wrapping me in his arms and telling me he loved me and asking about forgiveness.

Archangel Visits True Stories

Archangel Visits - True Stories

Several years ago I published an article on how to Host the Archangels in your homefor a visit.  The article gave "hosting instructions" on how to prepare yourself and your home.  It explained how to receive the angels for five days before sending them on to someone else.  While the article was fairly simple, I never expected it to have such an impact on so many people's lives and in so many countries.  Or for that matter, to learn that it continues to reach individuals who see the article on the internet.

When it first appeared in Spirit of Maat, I was deluged with requests from all over the world.  The idea of Hosting the Archangels seemed to personalize them, striking a chord with families and individuals from Nepal, Africa, India, Europe, the Middle East, Japan, Australia and North and South America.  After sending out the Hosting instructions, I asked each person to send me a report of their experiences with the Archangels.  My intention was to do a follow up article at some future date. 

As 2015 dawns, the world is facing regional wars, religious turmoil, food and water shortages, corporate greed, political gridlock, dramatic climate changes, and a global crisis of confidence.  The "future date" appears to be now!  So, here are some uplifting reports from those who hosted the archangels over the last several years.

Almost all the people were flabbergasted that they could actually invite theArchangels into their home.  A few questions or comments were quite humorous.  For example, Janet in the US said she only had a 2 bedroom home and no air mattress so didn't feel she could accommodate four of them at the same time.  Edna from the UK said her home was very small so wondered if she put them up in a local hotel.  A few asked, "What do they eat?"  Apparently this isn't such an odd question.  My mother, going through lymphoma treatment, grew thoughtful one day.  I saw her staring out the window.  Then she asked, "What do you think they eat in heaven?"

Yeghish, a young man in Lebanon thought a visit by the Archangels might help bring peace to his homeland. There was one remarkable story from Regine in Germany.  She reported feeling dizzy as though struck down when the archangels arrived. She took them to several churches in her city, lighting candles and praying for peace and forgiveness for what was done to the Jews in Germany.  She felt great power and presence with the angels.  Six months later Regine learned that a book she wrote called Angel Power Pictures - Healing of the Soul was published and a month after that, she had her first exhibition.  All of which she attributes to the visit of the  Archangels. 

Sasha from Florida reported a near death experience when the angels visited.  Her husband asked the archangels if they would go to work with him one day.  While he was on a ladder next to a power line the transformer blew up, sending him flying backwards in the air.  He was strapped to the safety line so managed to get to the ground.  Shaken up but alive, he fell to his knees and thanked the angels for their help knowing they had saved his life.

Mara in Ireland was living in a stone cottage desperately in need of many repairs.  She'd approached the landlord for three years to no avail.  So when the archangels came to her house, she asked them to help with the repairs.  After the angels left, her landlord arrived without her asking and repaired the cottage. 

But not all hostings were monumental events.  Adam wrote to tell me his familyneeded help with "everyday stuff."  He said when the archangels visited, his wife had a much easier time with their children.  Dinners were easier and the kids played while she cleaned.  Adam thought he needed to win the lottery to have all his problems solved.  Instead he had a great revelation.  He was driving by himself and heard a voice say that if someone else took care of his problems it would be like taking his own energy and capabilities away.  Adam felt he needed to simply buck up and take charge.  And he did.

The testimonials indicate that Hosting the Archangels has been an astounding journey.  Some enjoyed the experience so much they've hosted them more than once.  If in 2015 you find yourself in need of some angelic support, you might consider hosting them.  If you do, contact me at jomooy@gmail.com and I'll send you the particulars.  

Jo Mooy - January 2015 

December 2014 - A $2 Cushion

A $2 Orange Pillow   

It's almost impossible to get through December without thinking about the holidays and gift giving.  But how many people remember what they got for Christmas last year, or Christmas a few years ago?  It's not that the gift had to be memorable.  Instead, maybe it's because gift giving has become like eating - just something one does.  I was like that myself, until one day in India when I realized, trite as it may sound, gift giving was more about what I was receiving.

I went to India on a three-week pilgrimage with a spiritual group intent on meditating in holy sites, visiting temples, and doing what we could in the slums of India. It's a country of two billion people that assaults the senses on every level. The cultural adjustment is immediate.  Upon arrival, the sights, smells, sounds, pollution, heat and humidity are overwhelming, yet there's a noticeable current of serenity amid the noises of traffic, the endless horn blowing, and the people and cows walking the overcrowded streets. 

 

India is also a land of contrasts with designer stores on paved foundations flanked by small shops on dirt pathways selling inventories of single items like thread or tin pots.  Our boutique hotel, complete with a uniformed doorman, shared a lane with squatters living in the dirt under rotted tarps supported by tree branches.  Some of the dwellers lived in the shells of rusted out cars.  A few shared a patchwork hut of corrugated cardboard with a galvanized awning that was considered a luxury.  These living conditions, prevalent in the country, defy comprehension.

Because we sat on the floor of the temple during meditations several of us needed to buy a cushion.  Our hotel driver Salim took us to a local seller because he felt the designer stores would be horribly overpriced.  He was right.  We bought four cushions for $8 whereas the cushions would have cost $25 each in the designer stores.  It was then we learned from Salim that a good wage in Delhi was $20 a month.

 

Before leaving Delhi for northern India we had to lighten our luggage so I wanted to give the cushion away.  I'd seen the woman who lived in the dirt under the tarps.  Every day she cut fresh tree branches to support her decaying roof.  I'd walked past her dwelling several times, noticing only a small candle for light in the dingy interior.

Not knowing what protocol to follow I went down the lane to give her the cushion.  I was stopped by the uniformed door man who did not speak English but clearly did not want me to walk down the lane.  Our pantomime of flailing gestures summoned an elderly man who came out of the dwelling to see what was happening.  He spoke English so translated for the doorman what I wanted to do.

 

All of a sudden the doorman began to tear up as he moaned in Hindi.  He put his hand over his heart and kept shaking his head.  The old man translated for me what was happening.  It seems the woman I'd seen cutting the tree branches was his wife.  This job he held was the sole support of an extended family living under the tarps and cardboard.  He too lived under the tarps, appearing at the hotel daily to shower and put on the hotel-provided uniform.  He was crying because no one had simply given something to him or his wife before and he was overcome with emotion.  The old man who I learned later was his father, put his arm around the uniformed man's shoulder and both of them cried as they hugged the orange cushion.

 

In that single moment I understood the impact of what he said and tears welled up in my eyes as well.  This was India, where people living in the dirt under tarps could never afford a $2 orange cushion.  This was India, where a $2 orange cushion that I could have easily tossed away, had caused a grown man and his father to cry with gratitude.  This was India, where upon my return to Delhi, walking past the dwelling one night, I saw a $2 orange cushion glowing in the candlelight of the otherwise colorless interior.

This was the gift of a $2 orange cushion.  But the gift was in receiving the unheard of gratitude and heart-felt smiles from street dwellers who saw the cushion as a beacon that someone cared.  The gift kindled a visceral appreciation for the bounty we have in this country and often take for granted.  The $2 orange cushion memory stays with me every day, but it's especially magnified during the Christmas gift-giving season.   

Jo Mooy - December 2014  

   

Calling Mother

Calling Mother
 

"Mama!"  It's the first word a child says.  And, it doesn't matter what country the child is in.  For the baby-babble term for mother is the same in China, Poland, Africa, Peru, Russia or the US. When a baby wants something it cries out for Mama.  When it's anxious it sounds Mama.  When it's happy it beams Mama.  For the child, Mama is the center of its world.

On a recent foray to the grocery store I was watching a year old baby interact with its mother.  The baby was content to chew on a toy, but every so often she looked up to insure that connection with her mom was still there, by saying, "Mama!"  Each time, her smiling mom bent down to the child replying, "Yes, Emma" which elicited a giggle from the baby.

It was a simple interaction, but one that caught my attention.  What was this gentle checking in with mom?  What memories or needs were being activated in the baby?  And why was the mother being summoned and not others around the baby? I recalled the teaching of a Sufi mystic.  He said look beyond what was appearing and you would find what was actually transpiring.  So I did.

What was appearing?  A baby was periodically calling to its mother who was answering it.  But what was transpiring?  It was trust.  The mother was the source of the baby's well-being.  The mother was the individual with whom the baby identified, called it "Mama" and she trusted that Mama would hear and tend to her needs. But something else was transpiring.  The baby's connection with the mother was a metaphor of humanity's connection with source.   

Somewhere between childhood and becoming an adult many have forgotten how to Trust in the Mother Source.  They've also forgotten how to contact it.  Sadly, when we most need it, they've forgotten how to contact Her.  This disconnection is especially true given the nightly news barrage of misery around the world.  On an evening walk my neighbor commented that everything she saw on the news was so upsetting it was making her sick to watch it. I asked her if she could do anything about what she saw on TV.  She didn't think so.  I suggested she pray for everything to work out.  She thought about it and said, "I forgot I could do that."  

There is great healing in Trusting. It's an emotion that causes us to believe things will work out and get better.  It empowers us, helping us to feel safe no matter what we're experiencing in life.  Trust teaches us that it's going to be better in the morning.  So when we see these horrific things on TV that inscribe fear or pain in our hearts, we can Trust in the Divine Mother's care.

The great Bodhisattva Quan Yin, Mother of Compassion, gave up nirvana until all her children were saved.  She is the ultimate "Mother of the Universe" or "Mama" that we can call and who promised to hear our cries.  This Great Mother said no matter the trial or tribulation, if her children called her she would take the form needed and come to their aid.  And so the stories of her help are documented all over the world.

So when you're watching the nightly news, or see something that distresses you on TV or Facebook, or anywhere you go, think about "Calling Mother."  She said she would hear every cry.  You can Trust that promise and for that matter, Trust that everything will work out.  For as we look at what is appearing, something much greater is transpiring.  Behind it all, the Divine Mother is working her promise.  It may take a tad longer than we think it should, but Mama hears our prayers!

Jo Mooy - November 2014

 

 

Coming Around Again - The Lobster

Coming Around Again
The Lobster Story  

 

Over 40 years ago I picked up one of those magazines you'd never subscribe to, nor read, other than to pass the time waiting in a doctor's office.  It was filled with the types of articles that I assumed home-makers might enjoy.  But while flipping through the pages I saw a short article called The Risk of Growing by Eda LeShan that captivated me.

The author was celebrating her 59th birthday by reflecting on the years gone by.  She used each birthday to remind herself not to waste a minute of her life and to keep growing and changing.  While writing a book she'd met an oceanographer who told her the story of how a lobster was able to grow larger though its shell was so hard.  He explained that the lobster had to shed its shell at regular intervals.  When its body became cramped inside the shell the lobster looked for a reasonably safe place to hide while the hard shell came off.  While in the shedding process, the lobster was very vulnerable.  The soft underlying membrane could be crushed by wave motion on the coral reefs, or it could be eaten by larger predators.  It took a while for the membrane to harden into a new shell.  But the lobster had to risk its life in order to grow.

The story of the lobster hit a deep chord in me as I too was going through a major change in my life and felt vulnerable to the "what-ifs" in front of me.  I cut out the article and stuck it on the bulletin board in my office where it remained for many years.  I referred to it often, using the lobster's story as guidance when changes in my life seemed insurmountable.  I knew I had to tough it out - whatever it was - so I could grow and change.

One day a friend, (let's call her Susie) came to my office telling me about the serious changes happening in her life.  She was stuck in a relationship, filled with anxiety on how to move on but looking for answers.  I made a copy of the Risk of Growing while telling her the story of the lobster.  I didn't know at the time what an impact the lobster would have.  It caused her to leave the safety of a marriage, though it was not working, and strike out on her own.

I had not seen Susie in probably 25 years.  But our paths crossed recently at a weekend gathering of old friends.  One morning at breakfast we were talking about the old days and how our lives had changed since we met.  We reminisced about a world gone mad; how possessions once valued no longer served us; about life's ups and downs; and disappointments with goals and ideals gone dormant over the years.  One of the friends expressed her frustrations and sadness with her current relationship and struggled with how to change it.  She wondered how she could reclaim the power and independence she once had without causing irreparable loss with her husband.

Susie told the story of the lobster's need to grow.  I was stunned that she knew the story.  But she reminded me that I'd given her a copy of it at least 25 years ago. She said, "Oh the lobster story has been with me since you gave it to me.  I've relocated many times, changed wallets over the years, but I always kept it.  Here, I'll show you."  She opened her wallet, moving aside photos of her husband and grandchildren and produced the now creased and aged clipping dated 1972.  

She read the story of the lobster to the group, using the analogy of releasing the too tight shell that was cramping the intuitive growth needed by our friend.  She explained how our interaction so many years ago had caused her to shed ingrown inhibitions and move forward with freedom into a magnificent new life.  She said if she had not exposed her vulnerabilities and taken the risk she would have stayed and by staying, "died" in the relationship.

Life's circumstances cause us to grow and change whether we like it or not.  We all know when the shell becomes too tight and uncomfortable.  We become fearful, irritable and depressed.  Some may stick it out confined by the shell and suffocating the very life inside.  The brave ones leave the safety of the shell, venture out into the unknown, and trust they'll not get swamped as the new shell emerges.  Surrendering to that vulnerability and trusting in the process is the ultimate lesson of survival.

Eda LeShan shed her physical bindings in 2002 journeying into spirit.  But her story of the lobster continues to teach and inspire forty-two years after it was published in Women's Wear Daily.  

Jo Mooy - October 2014

Calling Mother

Calling Mother
 

"Mama!"  It's the first word a child says.  And, it doesn't matter what country the child is in.  For the baby-babble term for mother is the same in China, Poland, Africa, Peru, Russia or the US. When a baby wants something it cries out for Mama.  When it's anxious it sounds Mama.  When it's happy it beams Mama.  For the child, Mama is the center of its world.

On a recent foray to the grocery store I was watching a year old baby interact with its mother.  The baby was content to chew on a toy, but every so often she looked up to insure that connection with her mom was still there, by saying, "Mama!"  Each time, her smiling mom bent down to the child replying, "Yes, Emma" which elicited a giggle from the baby.

It was a simple interaction, but one that caught my attention.  What was this gentle checking in with mom?  What memories or needs were being activated in the baby?  And why was the mother being summoned and not others around the baby? I recalled the teaching of a Sufi mystic.  He said look beyond what was appearing and you would find what was actually transpiring.  So I did.

What was appearing?  A baby was periodically calling to its mother who was answering it.  But what was transpiring?  It was trust.  The mother was the source of the baby's well-being.  The mother was the individual with whom the baby identified, called it "Mama" and she trusted that Mama would hear and tend to her needs. But something else was transpiring.  The baby's connection with the mother was a metaphor of humanity's connection with source.   

Somewhere between childhood and becoming an adult many have forgotten how to Trust in the Mother Source.  They've also forgotten how to contact it.  Sadly, when we most need it, they've forgotten how to contact Her.  This disconnection is especially true given the nightly news barrage of misery around the world.  On an evening walk my neighbor commented that everything she saw on the news was so upsetting it was making her sick to watch it. I asked her if she could do anything about what she saw on TV.  She didn't think so.  I suggested she pray for everything to work out.  She thought about it and said, "I forgot I could do that."

There is great healing in Trusting. It's an emotion that causes us to believe things will work out and get better.  It empowers us, helping us to feel safe no matter what we're experiencing in life.  Trust teaches us that it's going to be better in the morning.  So when we see these horrific things on TV that inscribe fear or pain in our hearts, we can Trust in the Divine Mother's care.

The great Bodhisattva Quan Yin, Mother of Compassion, gave up nirvana until all her children were saved.  She is the ultimate "Mother of the Universe" or "Mama" that we can call and who promised to hear our cries.  This Great Mother said no matter the trial or tribulation, if her children called her she would take the form needed and come to their aid.  And so the stories of her help are documented all over the world.

So when you're watching the nightly news, or see something that distresses you on TV or Facebook, or anywhere you go, think about "Calling Mother."  She said she would hear every cry.  You can Trust that promise and for that matter, Trust that everything will work out.  For as we look at what is appearing, something much greater is transpiring.  Behind it all, the Divine Mother is working her promise.  It may take a tad longer than we think it should, but Mama hears our prayers!

Jo Mooy - November 2014 

The Elders Speak

The Elders Speak

Elders are everywhere and their numbers are growing worldwide. You see them on the streets, waiting for buses, in stores and banks. All of them were born in the 1900's. They witnessed horrific wars and the evil one human can inflict upon another in the name of religion, nation, or culture. Yet, they persevered and in many cases, thrived. Surely they have something to say - perhaps some words of wisdom about their longevity, what they'd experienced in life, or advice to the younger generations of the 21st century.

Because my travels took me to various places this year, I asked the Elders I met on these trips the same two questions. What's the most important thing you learned in your lifetime? What's the one message you would leave for your grandchildren? Sensing that these were important questions and should be answered properly, all of them took time to think before answering.Their answers were unique, varied and compelling. These Elders stood out not just in their comments but in their attitudes about life. The oldest was 99, the youngest 78.

Buddy, a Korean war veteran walks the beach at dawn most weekends. His metal detector which looks like an extension of his arm distinguishes a unique tone when gold or silver is discovered under the sands. With headphones tuned to the sounds, he shared stories of his many finds. His answers to my questions were short and concise. In answer to the first his eyes got a faraway look. Then he said, "Too many guys died in Korea." In answer to the second: "Wars change nothing. We don't belong there!" Realizing that the scars of that war still held Buddy, evidenced by the Korean War Vet baseball cap he wore, I changed the subject and asked him what he thought about when he walked the beach. He said, "Nothing. My mind is calm and clear." And then he went on down the beach listening for the high pitched hum of gold.   

Gladys, the oldest at 99 and last of several siblings grew up in the mountains of Tennessee. She's hard of hearing now but every day she exercises her swollen legs and ankles by pushing her tennis-ball covered walker around the block. If you say "Good morning, Gladys" she responds, "I'm fine." If you ask her "What time is it" she responds "I'm fine." So her answers, simpler than Buddy's, were surprising and humorous. She said of the first question, "Get your hair done every week." And of the second, "Gotta keep moving." She does.

   

Bob, in his mid-eighties, was in great shape. Walking briskly across a trail in southern Utah he was delighted to engage in conversation. He talked about his Mormon faith and of the blessings and bounty it had brought to him and his wife. He proudly revealed he had eight children, forty grandchildren, and twelve great-grandchildren. I said, "Bob, I'd like to ask you a question or two." Before I could actually phrase the questions he answered with such confidence that I knew he'd given it thought long before our conversation. He said, "Three things. Be charitable. Always have a good attitude. And last, believe in something greater than yourself." Then he repeated, "Don't forget charity. It all starts there and that's due to God's blessings."   

Betty is the 90 year old last surviving Elder matriarch of four generations. Her blue eyes sparkle when she tells stories, some of which are punctuated with an infectious laugh. She does the daily newspaper crossword, her record to completion, mid-morning. "Keeps the mind sharp" she tells me. The greatest thing in her life was her three children, though she grew sad recounting the story of her stillborn first son. I asked her if she believed in the afterlife. She said a few months after her husband died she saw him sitting in his chair. He called out her name. I repeated the question about the afterlife, but she only replied, "I don't know." When I switched

to the last question, what message would you leave for your grandchildren, she got very serious so I expected something profound. Instead, she put her head back into the sun's rays and said, "Laugh often - even if you have to laugh at yourself." Then she bubbled in laughter.   

A Buddhist loving kindness mantra goes like this: May all beings be well. May all beings be happy. May all beings find peace. The simple messages of the Elders to future generations incorporates all those attributes. And, they could be made a part of any spiritual practice. Be well by getting your hair done (Gladys) and having a good attitude (Bob.) Be happy by doing something enjoyable (Buddy's treasure hunting on the beach) and laughing (Betty.)  

And last, finding peace. Each of these Elders had a message for that. Bob said believe in a higher power and give to charity. Betty said she didn't know when asked about the afterlife though I could tell she thought of it often. Buddy said we should avoid war. And Gladys summed it up well by saying we should keep moving. For movement is the sound of lives being lived in happiness, wellness and peace! 

 

Jo Mooy - September 2014    

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