So, he stood watching

as we left the bus, the three of us,

American women in African attire,

trying to blend in while touring

the Tanzania countryside.

Pride poured from his pores,

as confident self-identity.

The how and what

we strived to be. This noble Maasai

tribesman, spear and shield in hand,

full native dress of animal skins,

impressed us no end. Yet, he,

also Mother's gentle son,

never fanned away pesky flies

hovering near his eyes. Not even one.

We fantasized. Did he slay

a lion last night to protect

his family, his village? Or,

did he with tribal brothers

pillage the nearby wealthy

estate as we'd read in a tabloid

on some forgotten date?

He approached. We tried

not to stare. But, obviously,

he didn't care. This was his

country, his territory. What

exciting tale he'd tell aroused

our already rampant curiosity.

Verbosity was not one

of his traits, silent

warrior, he. A soft smile

slowly crawled across his face

as he posed ramrod straight

before my friends and me.

Then, he uttered those few words

and the bubble burst. Reality

crushed illusion. We giggled

just a little, trying to mask

our sudden confusion.

This warrior brother

of the Motherland spoke

not in Swahili or some

exotic Maasai cant, but in

a veddy, veddy, uppah, uppah

British accent.

His words I'll never forget

and neither will my companions,

to our chagrin. For said he

in his Oxford-educated way,

I say, are you ladies American?

During my tour as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia, W. Africa, I visited East Africa, namely Tanzania, Uganda, Kenya, and Zanzibar. We traveled by bus between countries. This is a recollection of meeting a Maasai tribesman in Tanzania who had been hired to pose in tribal dress for tourists. He'd recently returned to his homeland from his studies at Oxford University in England.

I am a soul fully grown,

and I grieved the day

my mother aborted me.

Did she know,

was she aware,

did she care

that I hold the keys

to cures for diseases

yet unknown to humanity?

She says it's her body.

But I have need of mine, too.

Now I won't be there

with my special gift

for you, nor you, nor you.

I am more

than the product of conception.

I have perception.

I felt the pain,

cried in vain,

 when snatched

from my mother's womb

Too soon, too soon, too soon.

And with me are legions of souls

waiting to be born

in every region of the world.

We are queued at birth's gate.

We long to bring our light

to dispel the hate that clouds

the mind and memory

of mankind.

O souls already born,

do hear our plea.

We long to gaze at

the rising sun,

flowers abloom

birds in flight.

To learn at your knee.

Are you my father?

Are you my brother, my sister,

or yet another who will

my talents, my potential, my genius

inhume?

In my mother's womb,

in my mother's womb,

in my mother's womb.

In the quiet hours of the morning, I sat focusing on a simple yet complex teaching from the Bible: Forgive seventy times seven times. A smile with just a smidgen of cynicism spread across my face. I didn't know of anyone who had offended me 490 times - yet. That's a lifetime of forgiving. Isn't it?

The Spirit within nudged me to recall incidents in the past where I harbored feelings of resentment. That was easy. On the job. (Thank God for retirement.) However, there was never a good reason to let a coworker or supervisor know that I resented what they said or did. I had a child to support. Hidden behind my Mona Lisa smile, however, were a few unholy thoughts - thoughts of how to rid the earth of their ignorance - permanently.

Well, Spirit gave me a gentle poke, reminding me that my coworkers often laughed and had a great time, while I buried my hurt and anger behind a calm demeanor. Then it hit me. The only way to free myself of long-held resentment was to rise above it. And the only way to rise above it all was to forgive them all. So, I did. I forgave every person on the job I'd ever allowed - yes allowed - to hurt me. Forgiveness is always for the forgiver.

A sense of relief immediately flooded my being. Pure joy flowed from the very depths of my soul. It felt so freeing! But Spirit wasn't finished with me. I playfully asked Spirit to reveal others I needed to forgive. As I searched my memory, a long procession of individuals marched across my inner eye - family, friends, strangers, long-forgotten events. Those healing words flowed continuously from my lips. "I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you."

Actually, Spirit took me all the way back to infancy. Back to the age of eight months when my older siblings claimed I told them to "Yee (leave) me." Knowing me now, I was probably trying to say, "Can't a baby have some privacy here?" Adult me said, "I forgive."

At that point I couldn't contain my joy. I laughed out loud. Probably woke the entire neighborhood. But something wondrous had occurred. A dark, heavy cloud seemingly hovering over my head began to break up then move away. And I experienced the sensation of a ton of bricks being lifted off my heart. All because I decided to follow the guidance of Spirit and forgive seventy times seven times. Imagine!

"Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." Are you holding, as I did, resentments, hatreds, dislikes of others? Forgive. Want others to fogive you? Forgive them. Do you want and need God's forgiveness? Then start forgiving everybody - today! And please don't forget to forgive yourself.

Today calm breezes soften the rays of the bright, beautiful sun. However, weather in my hometown can and often does change from one city block to the next. Last week we had several of those days, and the welcomed rain brought cloudy, windy days.

Now I only drive when necessary, especially on the rainy days. But while on the way from work several years ago, a hard rain and high winds rose suddenly. Realizing the Omnipresence of God, I tried to remain peaceful and calm, continuing to my destination. I watched as the winds dislodged dead limbs from trees along the roadway. After dancing with the wind for a moment, the limbs fell quickly to the earth, pranced along the street, and came to rest against some object.

Later in my meditation, the Father gifted me with an inspiring thought: The dead limbs of the trees were as old, worn out concepts or error thoughts. When we hold onto error in the light of Truth, it often takes a strong wind to dislodge it from our thinking.

The falling tree limbs, the thought continued, represented old ideas as they swiftly fall from consciousness down to the earth body to be eliminated. Who else but the Holy Spirit could turn such an intense act of nature into a learning experience?

When we are peaceful and receptive, light, love, and wisdom flow into our beings from the heavenly realms. There is a lesson in every moment, in every encounter. So, peace be still is my thought today and every day. 

I love to read

poetry, anecdotes,

short stories, little notes.

Words excite me.

Makes my heart flutter

just to utter

a descriptive phrase.

The day flies swiftly by,

nights, too, when I read.

A good book is all I need

to smile

and escape life's burdens

for awhile.

I'll curl up on the couch

when I arrive home.

And whatever grouchiness

I am feeling dissolves

as I'm reeled in

by a cleverly written tome.

As you can plainly see,

I'm smitten with words,

so hopelessly hooked.

Come, join me, dear friend.

And don't forget your book.

Incense spirals up

Angelic harmony reigns

Sweet songs flow softly

Go in where light dwells

Open your heart's secret door

God's love rules the day

Guided by the light

Mind open to the Lord Christ

Delusion retreats

So, it descended from my I AM tree

eons ago, fortunately.

All shiny and bright,

it was the light

of my Christ Self

now long hidden on a shelf

of my God identity.

How divine, this Christic serenity,

forgotten, foiled

among spoiled

fruit at the bottom

of life's barrel. Fallen autumn

leaves did shield it from worldly eyes.

But sweet angels, so wise,

lifted the veil from heaven's treasure

for a moment, but in full measure.

Now, once again I see

the Christ light, my true ancestry.

Have you ever read something that just makes you laugh out loud? Something you know for sure that God had a hand in? An item in today's Miami Herald had that effect on me. It seems a young man 39 years of age who had served time in prison for rape decided he was going to rape again. He chose the home of a 68 year old woman with a heart condition. Bear with me.

On entering the defenseless woman's room, Dusty, her Catahoula Leopard Dog, met him at the door. But Dusty is a little bit bigger and a little bit stronger than a German Shepard, according to the article. Of course, Dusty set off the alarm which then alerted the woman's son sleeping upstairs. Now, the intruder is 5 feet 9 inches and at 159 pounds could easily have had his way with the frail woman. He managed to get past Dusty swinging a screw driver. However, the woman's son at 6 feet 4 inches and 299 pounds jumped over the stair rail, landed in the kitchen, and in no time grabbed the rapist at the woman's bed. The screw driver didn't faze him. But guess whose eyes stretched (cliche coming) as wide as the proverbial eyes of a deer caught in a car's headlights. Don't you just love this turn of events?

Then to add insult to injury (excuse the cliche), the son managed to hold the intruder by the neck and call 911 - simultaneously! Did I mention the 46 year-old son once worked as a nightclub bouncer? No doubt the rapist was never so happy to see the police.  But what a royal spanking from the Almighty!

God truly does have a sense of humor and a way of showing us where we've erred, in my humble opinion. He knew the intruder/rapist needed a strong correction . I just needed a healthy belly laugh. The actual outcome of what could have been a tragedy will keep me giggling for years to come. Dear God, please bless that son for being there to protect his mom. And see that Dusty receives a big ole juicy bone and a lifetime supply of attaboys. Yeah.

On Watching "I Love Lucy"


Okay. I confess. I watched an "I Love Lucy" rerun the other day. For several years I avoided TV Land and those old TV shows of my youth. Not that I didn't like them back then. Nothing much else to do for a young Catholic girl with a strict mother. However, I have matured beyond that era - emotionally and spiritually. Right?

Well... I have to admit - what was funny then is funny now, even in this new 21^st millennium. Lucille Ball possessed a great talent to make even the sourest sourpuss break into uncontrollable giggles. Not many comedians make me laugh as Lucy did and still does. Most comics today  think they must lace their acts with sexual innuendo or political barbs. That may be funny for some, but gets old pretty quickly for me.

Other comics depend on profanity. When did foul language become the punch line? The "Lucy" show never used profanity, even when Ricky exploded after the redhead's shenanigans. Yeah, yeah. The TV powers-that-be of the 1950s imposed numerous restrictions on what could be portrayed. But, I liked it like that. I appreciate that decency more today, because TV has crossed a line I wish it had not.

Many African Americans still hold uneasy feelings about life in the '50s. What African American in his or her right mind wants a return to Jim Crow laws - second-class citizenship, riding in the back of the bus, and on and on? Not this one anyway.

Nevertheless, there is this longing in me to resurrect the morality and innocence of mid-20th Century America, when the entire family could watch any TV program - together. When there was never a need to censor or bleep. When writers, directors, and producers felt no pressure to broadcast raw sex and violence. When no commercials taught children that it's funny to be selfish and refuse to share. When no network bragged of "No Limits" programming.

Yes, I sure miss the stories where the good guy won in the end, and the bad guy got his comeuppance. Where characters always resolved their disagreements and forgave one another. That's right - by program's end. Where the storyline contained a lesson and the main character became a better person after learning that lesson.

Forgiveness is an ideal that's lacking in too much of today's popular writing, whether in print or broadcast media. No doubt in my mind that failure to forgive is why so many personal relationships or relations between nations writhe in turmoil. Why there is so much divorce and so many senseless wars. Hardness of heart is a prelude to hatred. But, can we get back to that spirit of forgiveness? Yes, if enough people, governments, and nations desire it. If our so-called leaders can rise to that level of consciousness.

Ricky always forgave Lucy. Now, what if Yasser Arafat had forgiven Ariel Sharon, or if all Israelis forgive all Muslims, and vice versa? Perhaps no Hamas government? No suicide bombers? What if all blacks forgive all whites for past injustices? What if racist whites turn away from hatred and prejudices and forgive black people for being black and Jews for being Jews? What if you forgive everyone who hurt you? What if you forgive yourself? What if we understood that we all fall short of God's glory? Like Satchmo, "I think to myself, what a wonderful world."

O Lord. Here they come. The raving, roving detractors. "Get real! Lucy and Ricky are dead and so are the '50s! Life just ain't like that anymore, lady."

Well, I think it should be. What do you think?