MEDITATION & THOUGHTS

Meditation 

Meditation for Full Moon 2011

Find yourself a quiet place where you will not be disturbed for about 15 minutes or so.  Light a candle and put on soft music if you wish.  Close your eyes and visualise a pyramid of golden white light surrounding you and the whole area around you, above and beneath, so that you are completely safe.  Quietly ask Archangel Michael to stand by you with his protection and guidance.  

Imagine now that you are sitting in a place of great beauty, in nature, with a still, calm lake nearby.  Focus on your breathing, breathing from the abdomen, and become aware of your body.  Mentally scan it from the top of your head, through the different parts of your face, your neck, shoulders, arms and all through your body right down to your toes, feeling these areas relaxing as you continue to breathe deeply.  You will realise you are now so much more in touch with the sensual side of life.  How wonderful it is to be on this beautiful planet, and how vibrant the colours are, how melodic the birds sound!  It feels as though you are hearing and seeing these things for the very first time.  You can feel the gentle warmth of the sunlight upon you and around you, bestowing life and light, creating harmony in nature and the spheres.  Become aware of the great Central Spiritual Sun, giving light and life to your soul.  Feel the presence of Archangel Raphael and the magnificent solar angels, as they work to gently recharge the energy of your soul. 

Feeling very relaxed and at peace, you savour the vibrant colours of the setting sun.  As it disappears at one side of the lake and the sky darkens, you suddenly notice a brilliant light appearing on the other side of the lake.  This light climbs steadily higher and becomes brighter - a full moon!  Bathe in this light and notice how different the energy feels.  It has become so very nurturing.  Sense the presence of Archangel Gabriel and many Angels of Light hovering around you.  Notice the presence of Mother Mary, as she nurtures you and guides the Angels to surround you with their soft, gossamer light.  You feel so loved and as you gaze at the beautiful clarity of the moonlight shining on the water, be aware also of the planets and stars above you, reminding you of your stellar connections. 

You know in your heart that this is a time of new beginnings for you.  Open your heart with simplicity, to receive the Divine Guidance for your highest greatest good that is being offered to you.  Spend a little time in that inner stillness, open and ready to receive the special messages that these mighty beings of light have for you. 

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Now take another long look at this special place, drinking in this magical beauty, so you can always hold it in your heart for when you need to go there.  It will always be there for you.   

Start to focus on your breath again, gently bringing yourself back into your quiet place, thanking Archangel Michael for his protection.  Be aware of your feet very firmly on the ground.  Stamp them a little if necessary!  Open your eyes and go forth as the lovely being of Light you truly are! 

Spiritual Trails 

Cheyenne- Story by Catherine Moore

"Watch out! You nearly broadsided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."

My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts.... dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.

At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick We began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article..."

I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me.

I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons: too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.

Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip bones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"

Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw...

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at is feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.

And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article... Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter... his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father... and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live while you are alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second chance.

And if you don't send this to anyone -- no one will know. But do share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.

God answers our prayers in His time... not ours... 

Angel Blessings
Anne

Book review

Buen Camino

By Natasha And Peter Murtagh  ISBN: 978-0-7171-4843-1

This is a lovely book. In early July I saw the film The Way which is about The Camino. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. The Camino is a Journey that I really want to take myself and when I was reading this book it inspired me to make the Journey. The book is written by a father and daughter, it has stories about the people they meet, their  thoughts  and experiences along the walk.  Because of the film I could see where the journey was taking them. I found this book very inspiring. And a very enjoyable read.