"What we've got here is a failure to communicate."

I don't know why I stopped "blogging?" I found it relaxing, cathartic, fun even and it provided me with an awareness of myself that I didn't usually have on any regular basis.

It's only when we stop, listen and take a good hard look at ourselves, do we get tiny glimpses of that vaguely familiar being, who sits there right on the very edge of our consciousness. You know the one, she (or he) has sat there forever right there, right there inside our head.

It's the "real" us, the one who sits in there watching, listening and judging everything we do or say and in my case, usually shaking her head making comments like, "What a load of bullshit!"

Well it's New Year's Eve and time to make another commitment that I may not keep, but of which I have the highest of intentions; lets' Blog!

My "blog" won't have a theme or any sense of order, so once again it will be titled "Organized Chaos." I like it. It sums up my life in two, small insignificant words.

So here we go again, all the "stuff" that swirls around in my head, written down on paper (so to speak) and on display. It will be here. If you're totally bored with everything else you've read on Facebook take a look... it may make you laugh, it may make you cry. In most cases it will make you even more certain that I've lost my mind... but if it makes you feel anything, you'll realize you're alive!

Peace, love and light in 2011

M

We're off to see the wizard....

What if you were? ....off to see the Wizard that is... and what if you could ask him for anything! What would you ask him for?

I've thought about this since I was kid. What would I ask him for? I already have a pretty good heart and I have a brain that works (on most days) and if nothing I am courageous... I guess I could ask to be home, but that seems silly since most of the time when I am home, I'm dreaming about being someplace else.

Don't get me wrong I love my home! I love my house. It's safe and warm and comfortable. It holds so many good memories. It's weird to realize that there are people (people I love) who have stayed in my home, that no longer walk on this earth. Sometimes when I walk into the guest bedroom or into the den, I feel their presence. Or do I just want to feel their presence? I'm never sure.

My home has always been a place of comfort and refuge for me. A place to which I can always escape. ....but still, I always feel other parts of the world calling me "home." Places I've never visited, are calling call me "home." How can that be?

Nepal, Jerusalem, that place in Finland (or is it Iceland) where you go to experience the Aurora Borealis? Italy always. France for sure. Obscure places like Easter Island, Stonehenge, New Mexico... the "outback."

Maybe it's true, home is where the heart is... it's just that my heart is over the place. I want to see and experience all of it!

Maybe that's what I would ask the Wizard for! A one way ticket around the world!

Right now I'd settle to be on a flight to London. I'd settle to be on a flight to anywhere! Instead, I'm sitting on the floor of the Miami airport, Gate J15, listening to not so cool jazz, freezing and wishing I were anywhere but here!

A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others. ~ The Wizard of Oz

"Arif my Friend"

Arif Kazi is my friend. He is from India. He is bright, he is funny, he is articulate and he just happens to be Muslim. His choice of religion is not a big deal and normally would not even be noteworthy, but I don't think I've ever known anyone who was Muslim... and after all my years on this earth (and the fact that there are approximately 800 million Muslims in this world) I think that's pretty amazing!

I love talking to him about his religion... the traditions, the origins and all the similarities to Catholicism and Judaism blow my mind! It is really interesting stuff!

Arif is animated about his beliefs and devote in his practice. He eats only "halal, which are foods seen as permissible according to Muslim dietary law (Sharia) and he attends the obligatory Jummah (Friday afternoon service). When prompted, he talks about his faith with passion and seems to enjoy playing the part of the "Ustadz" (teacher). He is going to bring me a Koran, written in English, so I can learn more.

Arif and I are from opposites ends of the earth. He's a male, I am a female. He was born in India I was born in the US. He is young... I am not. He is Muslim, I am spiritually open... Yet with all our differences, we are good friends. We like each other, we respect each other, we enjoy each others company and we like talking about the differences between us. We embrace the differences that we find in each other and oddly enough we do it easily. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to do.

What I don't understand is why it's so difficult for other people to do the same?

Joy

What is joy?

For me it's the feeling I get when I'm with my Grandson. This amazing, 11 year old, dynamo stirs emotions in me that I never knew I had.

Don't get me wrong, I love my children. My girls are wonderful, amazing, really fantastic, but having a Grandchild is indescribable!

I think when you have kids you're so worried about doing everything right and not screwing them up... you miss a lot! You love them, you enjoy them, but there's this underlying tension and worry. This weird anxiety like your forgetting something or that you've missed something.

Not to mention the fact that you don't ever want them to see you for who you really are! God forbid. You need to keep the grand facade going that you're this all knowing, all powerful, perfect "parent." Even though they know... and you know, you're not. You never were.

With my Grandson, it's different, it's all about love. Unquestionable, unconditional, undying love.

I look at him and I see bits of his mother, sure that's easy... but more than that I see my Dad, my Mom, traces of Uncle Charlie... and I see me. In him I see what must be traits and characteristics of the many generations of my family that came long before me. I also see the future.

After I'm long gone, he'll still be here. He'll hopefully have a wonderful life and a family of his own. He'll have memories of me that don't include my disciplining him, or punishing him. He won't think about the times I messed up or made is life miserable, because it never happened. He won't blame me for things that have happened in his life, or worse blame me for the things that didn't happen. His memories and judgement of me won't be clouded by that whole painful parent/child, love/hate thing.

Nope, after I'm dead and gone... he'll be left with memories of "Grandma." ...and with any luck at all he'll be overcome by a feeling of unquestionable, unconditional, undying love and feeling of joy.

Interacting with Art

Is it just me or do you get an irresistible urge to interact with art anywhere and everywhere you find it? Yeah, me too! Isn't it fun? I especially like unusual sculptures, the ones that I can climb on and touch, get to know.... I find interactive art in most places we visit. Even if it's not meant to be "interactive, it is when I'm done with it! At least until I hear the whistle blow.

See the piece.

Feel the piece.

Beeeee the piece.

What else we got.....

This piece? I have no idea what the artist was trying to say. Fat guy, bad posture, no arms. Funky, but fun.

This is Chicago's world famous "Bean." It is totally fun and 100% interactive. Hundreds of people walk around it and under it, having fun playing with their own reflection in this huge, silver, bean shaped sculpture. You instantly feel carefree and childlike! Young people, old people, people of all colors and all cultures just being silly and having fun! Maybe they should put a bean in Afghanistan and Iraq. Hmmm? Now that I think of it, maybe they should put a Bean in every city of every country in the world!

If anyone ever needed a kiss... this guy did! Seriously can you imagine living for eternity with that look on your face? Poor bastard. I couldn't find anything written about the sculpture that explained why this poor man was so eternally glum... although we were in Germany and it was wicked cold! ...but come on Dude, things could not have been that bad!

When is the last time you sat in a shoe? Or to be more precise, when is the last time you sat in a wooden shoe? It was fantastic! There you are on a busy street corner in Amsterdam sitting in a wooden shoe while passerby's... pass you by! It was comfy and cozy and made of real wood. There was no explanation or plaque to explain why the wooden shoe was there, but I'm awfully glad it was.

À vélo à travers la Provence

Cycling through Provence, France (or Fronce as my husband would say) was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Well... ok, we didn't so much cycle "through" Provence as we did cycle around a few small villages, in a tiny area of Provence, but that counts, right?

Anyway, we'd leave our Cyclist Hotel bright and early in the morning and off we'd go. We'd follow an itinerary based on how strong we felt how far we wanted to go and what we wanted to see on that particular day. Day 1 - We were strong and energetic and we rode about 38 miles. We visited the Lavender Museum. Day 2 - Nauseous and-exhausted and can't walk let alone cycle. We rode about 10 - 12 miles with frequent stops for coffee, croissants, water, lunch, water, water and more water. ("Oh God, Are we near the the hotel yet?")

One thing I did notice was that the drivers in France treat cyclist much differently then American drivers treat them. Here, I think the DMV must give out extra credit if you scare the shit out of a cyclist. I'm convinced they reduce your insurance rates if you actually hit one! French drivers slow down, give you the right away and hand you a loaf of French Bread as they pass. American drivers throw their beer cans at you... and if your lucky they only throw the empties!

Cycling in France makes you feel totally hip and cool, no matter how old or out of shape you are. It's the whole Tour De France thing... like who knows, I could be a good friend of Lance Armstrong. Although, on second thought I doubt Lance's friends would cycle through Provence with a big saddle in-between their handlebars on a bike that has definitely see some better days, but you never know.

I'd love to go back someday.... but maybe next time I could just sit by the side of a quiet back country road, sipping on some lovely French wine while passing out loaves of French bread to the out of shape, tired, hungry American cyclists. au revoir.

On the road to find out.

"So on and on I go, the seconds tick the time out
There's so much left to know, and I'm on the road to find out." Cat Stevens

For awhile now, I've been "on the road to find out." I'm not exactly sure what I'm searching for, but I've tried be diligent in my travels.

Sometimes the road has felt steep and rocky and other times flat, smooth and straight. All in all, the journey's been enlightening and personally fulfilling.

Along the way I've been blessed to have met some amazing guides. Illuminated, spirits who have this genuine zest for life and thankfulness for whatever it has provided for them. They have this distinctive, knowing twinkle in their eye... A look that says, "I get it, I understand."

I want that. I need that. I long for that peace, that understanding, that absolute knowing that comes from finding and living your bliss. Nirvana. Awakening. Peace.

It will happen. I'll find it. My purpose will unfold and when it does, look out because there will be no stopping me.