October 31, 2012

October 31, 2012

We met Caitlin out front of the Paradise Market in Navato. She was sitting out front with Hyland's sister Erica drinking coffee.

Standing in the parking lot of a small shopping center off Highway 101 and Ignacio Boulevard on a damp, grey day in Navato she said softly as much to herself as to anyone else,

 "I don't have a home."

Later, when we were driving along the harbor after leaving Dominican College, she asked about putting Ninny up for adoption.
 

The Power of Intention

When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.

I trust myself.

There is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way.

The law of floatation was not discovered by the contemplation of the sinking of things.

We are not human beings having spiritual experiences. We are all spiritual beings having human experiences

Surround yourself with the conditions which you want to produce.

You can not get sick enough to heal one person on this planet.

What kind of thoughts am I having that are keeping me from being in rapport with the field of intention.

I want to feel good.

The source will provide.

Contemplate yourself surrounded by the conditions which you want to produce.

Vibrate with the source energy.

Learn to stop being offended.

Power versus Force: David Hawkins  The thoughts that we have.

Spiritual energy is the energy of abundance.

Obstacles: Ego, energy, self-talk.

Think from the end.

I see myself as already connected to that which I want which I want to attract in my life.

Are ready to start living at higher levels of consciousness.

As a man thinketh so is he.

Thoughts are energy.

Your friends are Gods way of apologizing for your relatives.

Self-actualizing people must be what they can be: Maslow.

What does it look like.

The seven faces of intention.

The face of creativity

It is my intention to live my life on purpose.

When you are inspired by some great purpose all things are possible.

When you are in spirit you are creating.

In my world nothing ever goes wrong.

Don't die with your music still in you.

The thinking about it is a part of connecting to it.

You have to start by thinking about it.

Your life is like a parentheses in eternity.

Nowhere. Now here.

Find a way to be of service.

Live your life on purpose.

Soccer on Superbowl Sunday

On Univision this morning, a few hours before the Superbowl begins, two teams are playing professional soccer, America versus Tigre
One team is wearing red uniforms, the other white and blue. The game is being called in Spanish. It crosses my mind that I should watch soccer games to help learn Spanish. The red team has corporate logos on their jerseys; Corona, Coca-Cola, the blue and white DHL, Banamex

When It Comes to Depression

http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2012/01/23/145525853/when-it-comes-to-depression-serotonin-isnt-the-whole-story?ft=3&f=111787346&sc=nl&cc=es-20120129

After Scanning Glass Negatives

Driving down Third Street. In the photo the pharmacist stood outside his pharmacy in a squat sandstone building. This is then, and that is now.

Email from Matt in Mexico

Yo,

We made it to PV last night and met up with Cait after 9hrs on the bus. It's 930am now and we are going to take a cab up the coast and see what happens. Ok bye.

The Bleeding Has Stopped

I did a nice job on my finger this morning. I cut three pieces of gauze and wrapped them around my finger and then taped the gauze to my finger. It was the first time I saw the cut since the accident. I wondered if I should have gone to the emergency room when it happened. I was glad the injured finger was on my lefthand. Around here you have to bandage your own wounds.

This Boy Is Dead

Ben Bauer, age four years 11 months, lies still in a small silk lined casket, dead from meningitis. His hair neatly combed, his hands folded, his eyes closed. Above him float foil balloons tied with colored ribbons and decorated with cartoons; 101 Dalmatians, Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, The Lion King, more balloons than Ben ever owned when he was alive.

His twin sister, Ashley, plays at the foot of his casket. She waves to grief stricken relatives and smiles. They smile. Her father gets up from his seat and takes her by the hand. It is impossible to understand his pain. Her mother shepherds her to a table with Ben’s collections of rocks and toy cars. Her mother is thin and frail and dressed in a faded, green dress. Her eyes are red and swollen. She tends to her daughter, guides her from here to there, cares for her and smiles, loses herself in her daughter, sits down, closes her eyes, rests, and realizes her son is dead. This is a nightmare that will never end. The boy she bore will always be dead, and she will have to live.

A hired preacher stands beside the casket, behind a podium, holding a bible, reciting the 23rd psalm. Afterwards he speaks of children as small gifts, as rays of sunshine, as vapor, and only once calls Ben by the wrong name.

After the service, in front of the funeral parlor, Ben’s sister walks up to me and says.

“I’m in Miss Vega’s class, and Ben is in Miss Taylor’s class.”

She is small. I put my hand on her shoulder and smile weakly. “Yes, I know,” I say and wonder when she will understand what this day means?