Cosmic Traveler by Donna Hinders LeClair

' Cosmic Travelers ... REALLY Cosmic Travelers!'

2011-07-25T17:27:00.000-07:00

Good Day LOVELIES!

   Hope ALL is well in your neck-of-the-woods and BELIEF is blessing you with enlightening VISION. I long for YOU to secure the time to FEEL that which has been invisible to your naked eye ... I truly envision the blossoming of your tunnel and welcome the passage of enlightenment. As I listen to Dave Stringer, I realize my body is recollecting his energy and freely flowing to the chants that once upon a time in Laguna Beach passed the idleness of my solemn lips. My spirit raises beyond deep gratitude as I bow my head ...
                                                                        then,
                                                                                  crumble to my knees.
I have been idle lately ... absorbing a different life style ( I moved from Laguna Beach, California to Phoenix , Arizona!). Now, I seriously have to tell you - THAT IS an ADJUSTMENT! At the age of 50 I moved to Laguna Beach from Ohio. ADJUSTMENT! It totally fascinates me how life changes from one scenery to the next. It extends beyond unfamiliar country with different weather and different geography, there seems to be long dark roads with twisted turns and narrow paths to future ... well, unknown. Therefore, as I stumble through the scenery, I realize what a bunch of bologna I have fed you, my dear, sweet reader.
       My last post was on ANGELS. Seriously if I truly BELIEVE what I penned than my ego would not be ruling the roost and I would be confident in the reality that one is truly never alone if one has FAITH. ANGELS have no boundaries, their presence - their POWER is not limited to geography,country, weather, twists, turns, AGE, race, religion, etc... YOU JUST HAVE TO BELIEVE in something, anything , YOURSELF - YOUR FUTURE - YOUR PRESENT - THEIR PRESENCE - THEIR POWER to SENSE the obstacles and eliminate the NEGATIVE ENERGY you, as a human, put in your own way. You MUST GRASP that no matter where YOU are at in your life, no matter what path you journey, and what obstacles YOU THINK are in your way, they are only riddled across an ILLUSION CREATED by your CURRENT PERCEPTION and YOU, my dear sweet reader CHOOSE that REALITY. And trust me on this ...
                 perception changes when you open your lens to that which is naked to the human eye and BELIEVE in the POWER of FAITH. Henceforth your esteem WELCOMES obstacles and RECEIVES them as nourishing tools necessary for growth and enlightenment.
I have a dear, dear friend Donjo ... I sincerely have to tell you, to watch him chant is an HONOR! He is one of the oldest practicing Nichiren Daishonin (SGI)Buddhist in the United States. His FAITH absolutely amazes me . NO MATTER what ... and seriously, no offense Donjo, I have seen this guy go through some serious s--- ... HE IS STILL HAPPY ... HE STILL BELIEVES! HE IS ONE of my VISIBLE ANGELS! I want one trickle of his FAITH! He reminds me FAITH is FREE ... it is a CHOICE! HE CHOOSES TO BELIEVE .... HE CHOOSES HAPPINESS!
     Another VISIBLE ANGEL I wrote about a couple of times is Reverend Rosalind Russell (see' The Other American' and ' Crippled Minds'). She is living in a tent, yet TODAY she is gifting someone with a bed and refrigerator. REALLY! Talk about selfless and unconditional! I bow to her honor and her BELIEF! Without a shadow-of-a-doubt she GETS IT! She doesn't blink ... she doesn't worry ... she KNOWS, so therefore she fears not. She walks with her head high and grounds to the roots of her own esteem for she KNOWS she walks not alone!
   Let us NOT forget my prior post on my Father's passing. I KNOW ANGELS exist ... I have SEEN them ... I have FELT them ... I have WITNESSED their POWER yet in times of turmoil, I surrender to ego and forsake that which I TRULY KNOW to be TRUE: WE ARE SURROUNDED BY THE LIGHT OF PROTECTION. Nothing negative touches us unless we open the door.
    Why does one surrender to ego when walls come tumbling down whilst another raises above and beyond the fundamental darkness inherent in life? Perhaps it is not one's obstacle, geography, path, country or weather that needs an ADJUSTMENT but one's VISION - one's BELIEF - one's TRUST in that which one's eyes can not see nor one's ears hear but in that which one's belief KNOWS to be TRUE as witnessed in the wealth of wisdom beyond oneself. Maybe, just maybe, if ego LETS GO of its control, and quits pampering the negativity we can CHOOSE to interact with ALL of the varies manifestations surrounding our being and in stillness, celebrate the fact WE ARE NEVER ALONE, ANGELS are EVOLVING around us ... guarding the breaths gifted to moments of enlightenment ... even in the DESERT!
   I hope as you journey the scenery, your spirit raises beyond deep gratitude and you bow to the stillness of BELIEF ...
             and the POWER of ANGELS!
      I bid you a GOOD EVENING with LOVING BLESSINGS! Nishli-nil, d.

' VERACITIES of LIGHT ' by Donna Hinders LeClair

2011-07-18T13:56:00.000-07:00

Good Day Cosmic Travelers!

I was standing on a street corner in Phoenix, Arizona waiting for my kid sister Julie over the weekend when a faint voice echoed," Donna ... Donna." I am quite sure there are multiple Donnas and the world does not evolve around me, myself and I, but when one believes as I do, your eyes scout the heavens and reflect, ' Mom ... Dad ... Lois ... Helen, is that YOU?" Somewhere there had to be an angel ... someone was watching over me ... and at that moment and in that time I could FEEL their presence!

At 7:25 P.M. on Saturday, February 2, 1991, my Father passed away of Pancreatic Cancer. My encounter with his transition profoundly affected my perception and belief about infinity and its bond to being. Life after death was no longer merely a theoretical possibility, but an unambiguous actuality ascertained after perceiving Daddy’s transitory. His transition bestowed the distinct insight upon me that his presence would flower beyond the mere existence of flesh, thought and heart. As I walked into futurity, I feared not the inevitability of mortality, for I esteemed the veracities of light evolving around my being.

For 45 days after his diagnosis, Daddy was left in a black void unconsciously disabled to transition because of his tormented past: a pale shadow of a man lay motionless staring into empty space ...

but then all of a sudden his eyes dilated and lit up as a faint light appeared and hovered close to the ceiling of the living room.

Then a huge beam of illuminating pure light completely engulfed the room and bathed Daddy in brilliant ease and acceptance. He had an irresistible almost magnetic attraction to the light, and as his eyes widened to draw in that which we saw not, and his hands reached out to touch that which our eyes were blind, he began communicating with beings that we could not hear but we could FEEL. From his responses we could tell he was glimpsing the multiple spirits of relatives and friends as he blew kisses, acknowledging them by name and voicing how much he missed and loved them.

From his facial expressions, we likened an extraordinary viewing of a rapidly expanding panoramic review of his life, and it was obvious someone or something was provoking reflections and questions. The emotions and feelings associated with the images reflected in the dilation of his eyes as if he was viewing a wide-screen television and was afraid to blink in fear of missing something. His brows raised in startled alertness, his mouth opened in awe, his head bobbed as if he questioned with curiosity what death and beyond were offering.

At first seemed he seemed anxious: his voice crying out in fright, his facial expressions turning to anger as he expressed bitterness for his transition into death. He kept proclaiming he was not ready, “Not now!” he shouted, persistently insisting he was not going to leave his children. Fitfully, now, at the end of his life, he was finally realizing the gift alcoholism had wasted for twenty-five years and he found himself desperately clinging onto one more precious second of living. In the last seconds of his life, I am sure, my father saw not the past nor present but the endless possibilities of the life that might have been.

Daddy aged twenty years as the cancer bled life from his very being, accelerating the aging process and he evaporated before our very eyes, becoming a mere shadow of the man he once had been: his hands dissolving bony and transparent with protruding blue veins that looked like the electronic traces of a circuit board, his skin tone bleaching into a milky iridescent illusion and the ghostly gray of hair that lay in a halo against the back of his lounger stripping the black, with his brows long and grizzly white flared out to blend in with the wiry hair mounting out of his ears.

After four hours of staring into the ethereal light, he appeared sanctified with intense feelings of solitude, love, and at last tranquility – just a peaceful quietness - a vanishing of all his worries: there was not any more pain or struggle in his face or actions, just a calm silence existence. His steely gaze seemed to traverse some ethereal mystery that penetrated a place neither he nor I had yet to travel.

When he found himself approaching the barrier between earthly life and the next in a faint and fragile softness, and with a great sigh of relief, he victoriously announced he was ready and called out all our names to make sure we were there. I clutched his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze good-bye and as peace radiated from his face, he decreed, “I love you, Share,” took his final breath and staring into the light, we watched the last of life scale his eyes as he slipped into the peaceful state of eternal rest.

"Donna ... Donna, snap out of it!" I looked up from the street corner in Phoenix and a little girl went running towards her mother as I threw my head back in laughter.

Angels: risen angels, living angels, loving angels, breathing wings of godliness in every crowd ... every face ... every heart ... every spirit. Can your sincerity not see the light of their being, or are they invisible to the spectrum of your lens that shelters faith? Can your spirit not sense the wings of godliness encircling the tingling energy beyond the aura of your own vibration? Reach deep into the light of trust, knowing nudities of compassion shall sanction the enlightenment of the unseen, the unheard and the uncertain.

Silent gentle beings around us, guarding us, carrying us and protecting us. Messengers delivering thoughts as true and pure as the driven snow, entities bearing silent powers that emit evil through the awakening of good, and the performance of endless miracles cast upon eyes anew.

Impact! Angels we choose to let in, those who wander in unexpectedly, those veracities of light who soar to broaden wings of godliness and those who birth awakenings across a planet sanctioned into the communion of enlightenment for a species carefully woven as one. We all bond through the compassion of humanity for a reason beyond the scope of our realization, and in one split second leave imprints on the grains of eternal passages.
All of us are ANGELS for WE NEVER KNOW while traveling through down our cosmic path which street corner will echo our voice ... our actions ... our energy and cause another to look to the heavens and reflect on the magnificence surrounding us and bow their head in THANKS!
NIshli-nil, d. Until ......

MINDFULNESS MEDITATION TECHNIQUE

2011-07-17T13:09:00.001-07:00

Good Day Wanderers!

Hope your weekend is sprinkling you with JOY and LOTS of SUNSHINE! Tomorrow I shall return to my regular ' Oh my gosh, I have fallen into Middle-Age and Can't get up ' type of blog but as for today, seeming it is Sunday ... My GIFT to YOU:

MINDFULNESS MEDITATION TECHNIQUE

Sit. Relax the body. Relax the mind. Be as still as possible.BELIEVE WE ARE ONE!!!

Body Posture

Sit comfortably, with the spine upright and supported and the head balanced naturally, looking forward with eyes closed gently. It is okay to sit on a chair, or on the floor, on the knees or cross legged with support, such as a pillow. The body must become still and remain still for a period of time for the mind to start to calm down and deeper states of awareness to be experienced. With practice, prolonged stillness can be achieved without discomfort. Any mindfulness meditation technique will require some discipline and perseverance to get the results.

Thoughts

Do not attempt to control your thoughts. The more we try to control thoughts, the stronger they become. Observe the breath with passive awareness. Observe the thoughts, feelings and sensations with compassion and tolerance. Don’t engage your thoughts by judging or analyzing them. Let them arise and dissolve, like clouds drifting across a blue sky, noting what comes with passive curiosity, and return to the breath.

Breathing

Let the breath be natural and gentle. Breathe through the nose, letting the belly rise as you inhale and fall as you exhale. Soften the belly. Let the chest rise last, filling up from the belly first, like a vessel filling with water.

The importance of attention to breath cannot be over-emphasized. It is the central key to any mindfulness meditation technique. So much suffering could be alleviated simply by placing mindful attention on the breath, focusing on the belly, or the area of the heart. Within the breath is the key to your greater Self. Emotion can reside in the body as chronic tension. The breath can undo this tension, and restore balance and peace to the mind. We forget the breath most of the time. Experiment throughout your day. See if you can count the number of times you remember to watch your breath. You may be surprised to realize how difficult it is to remember.

TODAY , LET GO OF ALL OF YOUR WORRIES ... ALL STRESS ... ALL NEGATIVE THOUGHTS ... THE PAST ... THE UNCERTAINTY ... KNOW in your heart I am HOLDING you, and when OBSTACLES overwhelms your belief, KNOW I am by your side and YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Breathe comfortably KNOWING WE ARE ONE BREATH and your BREATHE is mine, MINE YOURS and WE are ONE with the world ... KNOW every breath of life's existence flows through your being and carries with the out-breath ALL of your worries and fears! RELEASE that which serves you no good or no purpose - ALL OBSTACLES - ALL INSECURITIES and inhale my being ... my breath ... all beings ... all breath ...KNOWING nothing can touch you that you - WE - can not handle together.

WE ARE ONE ... WE WILL STAND STRONG BY YOUR SIDE ... WE WILL ABSORB ALL OF YOUR OBSTACLES AND FRIGHT ... WE WILL BECOME ONE WITH YOU ...

YOU WILL KNOW ... YOU WILL FEEL OUR POWER ... OUR STRENGTH ... AND breathe , KNOWING THE TRUTH:

NOTHING IS GREATER TO THIS MOMENT THAN THE LOVE THAT HOLDS YOU!!!!!

★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.BREATHE SLOWLY and have a wonderful day! ★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★

KNOWING WE ARE ONE

Final NOTE:

If you're not being treated with the love and respect that you deserve then you need to check your price tag. Perhaps you have marked yourself down. It's you who tell people what you're worth by what you accept. Get off the clearance rack and get behind the glass where they keep all the valuables !! Bottom line, value yourself more !!

I LOVE YOU .... D.

' You and I'

2011-07-16T10:48:00.000-07:00

IT IS THE WEEKEND .... LOVE !!!!!!!!!

You and I

You and I …

we are two vines curved to one another…twined into one stem – too like and near to discern the changes of our growing.

And it is wonderful, like feeling sudden pain in a paralyzed body.

You and I…

ALIVE … promises take shape and become

immense as only sheltered need … folding us… drawing us deep into ecstatic darkness.

Filling us with heavy warmth like the taste of impassioned lips.

immerse in my eyes, my breath … you are wonderfully heavy in my arms

with the sweet heaviness of one long and well loved.

As it happened,

I took your hand to feel the life pulsating through your veins and our fingers held … the way vines do in growing. We were wonderfully inarticulate ... we were breathlessly afraid … like flying in a dream.

And I …

open like a rose upon which the warm rain has fallen.

And you…

enter breathless like a frightened thief stealing into a church.

The room gathers around us –

the looking glass embracing with endearing perspectives…

skilled curious children playing –

each move revealing some strange and secret wonder

and I…

hugging it like a pampered child.

In silence will I dream dreams of you too wonderful to dare aloud…

and I wish-thought this to you:

Each nights love you lay aside for my return.

But as men wade ashore some inlet meant for picnics only

to die on the sunny sand meant best for building castles,

love enters the frantic mind…

Often…inexplicably as a child toddling out into heavy traffic – and nearly everyone in his last spare moment will pause to pick it up

And all is silent…

Leaving just you and me, in a still strange land,

Like two who do not die but move …

to be together and alone.
d.

★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.I hope you have a wonderful weekend!★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★

Do something GOOD for someone!

D.

" sleeping ......... BEAUTY"

2011-07-14T08:35:00.001-07:00

Good Day Middle Age Wanderers!

You will have to ignore my naughtiness this morning ... had to shift gears ... the other side of the coin!

EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT.

‘PRINCE CHARMING AWAKENS SLEEPING BEAUTY…AGAIN!’

Today, in front of the whole world, Sleeping Beauty snapped out of her deep slumber after Prince Charming who promised her happily-ever-after callously turned her into just another puppet. A master of illusions, he used every trick in the book, and pulled ALL of the right strings! Before he fell off of his pedestal and turned into just another toad, Sleeping Beauty’s magic mirror told her the lies he used to get into her laundry must have been the truth – her gallant knight did indeed walk on water.

A dreamer since cotton panties veiled her wishes and gullible games teased her virtue, she believed the perpetual fantasy that unraveled throughout the endless pages of countless fairy tales Generations of princesses from cradle to obituaries follow the yellow brick road in search of the knight in shining armor that is going to sweep them off their feet and whisk them away into the land of make believe.

While Sleeping Beauty was taking her little catnap, happily-ever-after plunged to an all time low, creating quite the grim fairy-tale, causing ‘until death do thee part’ to brave a significant transformation outside the boundaries of anyone’s fantasy: “ Walk the line or I’ll take your kingdom from you … read the pre-nuptials. I have rights, ask Judge Judy. She will tell you; she tells the whole world Monday through Friday 4P.M. EST – right after cartoons.”

A puppet … I am a telling you – putty in his hands. In front of the whole world, another fairy-tale down the drain: none of the king’s horses and none of the king’s men could not put that kingdom back together again!

Eyes wide open, we forget all of our basic instincts and ignore all of the danger signs while we jump back into the fire in search of the almighty OZ. Poised with dignity and grace,” Jack be nimble, Jackie be quick, why do we jump back into that candlestick?”

The older a woman becomes, the louder her intuition SCREAMS; it silently slithers around those clandestine corners that softly whisper the truth to that which are ears are deaf, and that which eyes blind. Its voice awakens the truth that at the thought our hearts do shatter.

Behold, they whom dare not listen to intuition’s scream!

As children, we travel through endless novels written by countless scholars in quest of the perfect love story. We dream of having at any and all cost what Walt Disney and Hans Christen Anderson promise that if we wish upon a star, we could indeed have. Scripts are skillfully written, stages cleverly constructed so dutifully we can become what every wanna-be princess in Never-neverland wants to be – the perfect Cinderella: a flawless marketing device created by the cunning hands of tinsel town’s Guogeppo and the shaving wand of generous editor, remarkably simulating any Barbie wanting to have sex in the city. A marketing device so precise it could appease any Ken foolishly looking for perfect 10. Knights in shining armor would be more than happy to carry their six-million- dollar Babe off into the land of yellow brick roads so she can pop bom-boms and sip Dom Perignon by the mirage all day while little Kenny merrily goes off to work and whistles through the day just so he can happily but his beloved Marc Jacob purses, Armani suits and Chanel shoes.

Wake up Sleeping Beauty! Put your $28 Target housecoat around your 32-inch waist and smell the coffee! Only good tuna gets to be Starkist!

Low flying dwarfs with poisonous darts in lieu of cupids with arrows usually bring small doses of love throughout little Princesses’ lifetime: a series of suitors who look perfect in print, but normally do not measure up in a three dimensional world. When all the pieces of the puzzle finally fit, and we do not have to get out the old rusty ladder to reach heavens nomadic clouds, starving hormones ignore the Surgeon General’s label, and tamper with the packaging. After one night of wonderful silly happiness, knights in shining armor usually get on their high horse and gallop down the street, around the corner and into yet another sunset. It is easier for them than lowering their walls, and taking the risk of falling in love and perhaps being hurt – AGAIN! Come on ladies, they were read the same fairy-tales, and they believe , if they admit it or not, in happily-ever-after. They are, after-all – HUMAN!

When butterflies flutter in our stomach, we always seem to put on those old running shoes and race towards the finish line; resorting to the sabotaging programs circuited in our stubborn yet protective brains in our childhood: We push, shove, smother, cling, possess, etc…We try all those appealing traits that cause promising suitors to lock their doors, change their cell phone numbers and e-mail address, drop off of Facebook, and point blank fall off of the face of the world and into some mysterious black hole.

Come on Cinderella was not running because the clock struck midnight -she wanted to get the hell out of there! Get a clue, his eyes were on every other maiden with a fur ball to lick. She was late because she could not what – follow orders! I beg your pardon I do not think so. She lives in the land of the FREE and the home of the brave where if properly lessoned, she can slay her own dragons and bring home her own bacon. The only reason Cinderella lost one of her slippers is she could not run in the goddamn three inch stilettos. I mean when is the last time you ran a marathon in those things; besides , she had enough confidence in herself to know she did not have to chase piped –pipers in tights or follow talking white rabbits down rabbit holes. Trust me, her stepmother did not lock her in the cellar … she was just enjoying a quiet meditation and everybody had to make a big deal out of it; like what, she cannot live happily-ever-after without a man!

Gluttony, greed, sloth, envy, wrath, pride, lust: seven deadly sins – seven illusions of love – seven ways to kill any fairy-tales. With millions of people in the world we are quite sure, quite positive, without a shadow of a doubt that that ONE special prince is the one and only we absolutely, positively cannot live without! The man; the one who will love us - hold us – protect us through good times and bad until death do thee part – THE ONE who will allow us to LOVE OURSELVES!

No matter what we have been through or how much pain we have endured, we have always chosen to be ladies-in-waiting. We beg lovers for stolen moments because we live not for us but them. Our needy flesh cry out, and we would die for the times when through our locked doors love would arrive.

However, you see, the clock is ticking. Life is too short. We cannot live in waiting anymore. Waiting for happiness to find us: to rescue all the Rapunzelss trapped in their own tower of scars, baggage, fears, and illusions . Believing middle-aged fairy godmothers with rusty wands will whisk them out of their grim make-believe into the merrily land of happily-ever-after. We are wasting enough time waiting : getting up in the morning, going to work, eating, going home, eating, going to bed ... just to get up in the morning and do it again!

Yippee Yi Yet! All for the sake of maintaining our own little comfort zone – our lives as we have come to know, understand, and accept. Our lives where everybody seems separated from everybody else – floating like planktons in a wide ocean, hanging on for only brief moments, then losing each other – our hands slipping loose in a sea of endless confusion and pain.

Why do we deliberately wear scarlet letters? Why are we constantly running from the past, our lives, and relationship – from safe chances and opened doors? Little lost boys in Never-neverland, ten-inch girls in Wonderland. Round, and around, and around we go, where it all stops no one knows. One more time, we shall pay the price. We have to. Nobody ever said the first toad we kissed would be our last.

Really! However, nobody ever said they WOULD ALL be toads. On the other hand, maybe I am just taking the script a little too seriously! Who knows, maybe now at this ripe age of 58 I am wise enough to have learned I create my own fairy tale. I write my own script, direct my own scenes, live my own reality, follow my own path but there is still that Cinderella part of me that wishes life were as simple as our childhood stories made them out to be.

Consequently though I am intelligent enough to know this is life, this is real, and with life comes soul slaughtering experiences that I can ALLOW and have ALLOWED to destroy life at every level, or lessons that have and will allow me to grow, better myself, and in the process of enlightenment laugh at my own ignorance and stupidity. I am after-all not a fairy-tale illusion - I am after-all human and doing the best I can, and I can after-all make mistakes BUT I will after-all continue learning from them.

Ah, anyway dang-gong-it, I think the knight in shining armor should be reserved strictly for blind princesses wandering around in bogus wonderlands, chasing talking white rabbits and having tea parties with half a deck. As for this damsel in distress, I guess through all my ups and downs, good times and bad I have come to realize it is not incumbent on life to evolve into happily-ever-after so I think I’ll take my happilies while I can every single one of them, every single time!

Life does provide us with an instinctive appetite for stories – be it fairy tales at the beginning and obituaries at the end. Life, after-all, is the story. A broad community of common experiences in which WE ALL participate. The point of the story is to expand our horizons beyond the scope of our current lens, not to rely on magical wands to make us immediately happy. Therefore, as you follow your yellow brick road, and grovel through the den of lion, and tiger and bears believe there is someone out there just around the bend…beyond the reach of a thousand tears. Put on those ruby red slippers, click those heels, and believe although you are not in youth anymore somewhere past the bend of merry men, wishes do come true.

Nishli-nil fair maidens and jolly men … enjoy the dance! D.

www.onelittleblackbook.net

' Touch Me ' By Donna LeClair

2011-07-13T09:46:00.003-07:00

Today, I shall cut you a break ... a lighter, more elegant tone ...illusions of Love for the GODDESS in YOU ... ENJOY the JOY!

Touch Me

Touch me in secret places no one has reached before

silent places where only words interfere

sad places where only whispering makes sense

happy places where our hearts as children played

Touch me at daybreak, when darkness no longer clings to us

and we are enjoying a fresh, fragile happiness

midday, when the perplexity of our responsibilities engulf us

and the wear of the day tugs at our vulnerability

nightfall, when we once again begin to know who we are

and open the door to another lost in the furry

of yet another closing

and we hear and see one’s susceptibility

while slivering through the rigidity masking our identity

conceding the virginity of now

as twilight safely tucks us in

to captivating dreams softening

blissful spirits gently kissed

by tender lips

Touch me tightly throughout the night

with your strong protective arms

building a castle around my weary body

while I snuggle deeply

letting myself be

Cuddled

like an infant

in the cradle of your arms

Touch me like a child who will never have enough love

For I am somebody who wants to be lost in your arms

has known enough pain to love

is strong enough to give

wise enough to need

Touch me in crowds when a single look says everything

solitude when it is too dark to see

absence when I reach for you and cry out your name

Through time and space

Forever

Touch me when I ask

I am afraid to ask

my eyes are begging you to

Touch me with your soul

heart

words

hands

lips

simple presence in a room

Touch me gently for sometimes I need to weaken

I am a woman who has known pain

child who has silently suffered

lady who has pride

person who longs to be seen

lover who will love back

TOUCH ME

and

I will touch you in all the same ways

Through time and distance

Waking and sleeping

Forever

And a day

Throughout the depths of time

We touch.

Nishli, nil , d.

' THE OTHER AMERICAN '

2011-07-12T10:22:00.001-07:00

Good Day Middle Age Wanderers!

I hope this joyous morning of awakening finds your thoughts open and your hearts grateful! I begin my day...

bowing my head in THANKS for the blessing of YOU! Woke up WEEPING! Do you ever do that? My knees rose to my chest, I rocked my cradled body back-and-forth, and beneath the ruffles of my covers escaped into the sanctuary of my tears.

Reverend Rosalind Russell, the founding president of R Star Ministries, a dear friend of mine from Laguna Beach moves into a tent today. No, I did not say HOUSE or APARTMENT or ROOM, I did indeed say ... TENT. She is homeless. Who is this person and how does one become one of THE OTHER AMERICANS - the invisible ones who society avoids with vaguely suppressed horror that seem to leap from people with homes like some great drowning of rats.
READ my July 4th article titled ' Crippled Minds ' and learn the realities about Reverend Russell : she singlehandedly STOPPED poverty, trafficking, terrorism and illiteracy in 27 villages in Nepal, and three years ago her house burnt to the ground. She gazed as her entire life smothered in ashed spread to the wind. She can go up against poverty, trafficking, terrorism and illiteracy but when you are up against our Insurance Companies well ... you will build a tent before you break ground.
Although homelessness is a difficult number to measure definitively, a study by the National Law Center on Homelessness and Poverty, estimates 2.3 and 3.5 million people experience homelessness.( 1% o the entire U.S. population or 10% of its poor) According to National Coalition for the Homeless, 643,067 people will experience homelessness on any given night in the United States, and about 18 % of the entire homeless population will experience chronic homelessness and end up living in shelters and transitional housing, with 42% unsheltered … living in their cars, sleeping on park benches, on beaches etc….. These numbers suggest that roughly 1 in every 200 persons in the U.S. will use the shelter system at some point in their life.

I am one of the 200, therefore I empathize with these figures and Rosalind's situation: in 1972, in what seems like an eternity, I existed off raw nerves tombed in the tight atmosphere of an old yellow Pinto parked behind a park in a dark vacant alley in Dayton, Ohio. Nerves teetering on the edge of sanity and insanity. No sound ... No movement ... Nothing, but waiting, watching and listening to dead silent torture, and a taunting stillness nil to the rapid beating of my shattered being.

Time crawled, seconds took a lifetime, and my suffering seemed beyond the vastness of intelligible … my salvation beyond reach. Whispers breathed down my back daunting spells drifting within a gargantuan abyss.

I was not living. I was not even surviving. I was drowning, and the rescue rope was too short to pull me in. I was in thick, slimy grime; too deep ... too far out of reach. I was not eating; what little I ate was from cans: beans and tuna, tuna and beans - half a can a day, every day. My stomach is too upset to eat and my nerves too shattered to think of eating. I was a months shy of 19, and in the last trimester of pregnancy. Do you honestly think my childhood dreams or goals included living inside the boundaries of my scariest nightmare? Do you seriously believe me, as an eighteen year-old woman, ENJOYED the tomb of a car and the premature death of a childhood? Is this what any sane child or individual wishes for?

I was still human. Was I not? I still bled. Did I not? Why could not somebody, anybody see me bleeding? Had I become invisible?

I left my car for a short period to wash my hair in a gas station’s toilet - orange with rust stains and reeking of urine. The gas station’s stained cracked sink I sponged my body in was barely hanging on a graffiti decorated white wall. Yet, in that split second somebody stole all of my worldly possessions from this lavish life hemmed in by such iron fences of invincibility.

It was my fault. I did not know the rules. I did not know it was assumed what was mine was theirs because my things could not possibly have any value or meaning. How could it possibly make any difference? Even if somebody stole my only blanket for nights so chilly the winter frost encased me in a frozen tomb of hot breath and shivering bones.

Ah! To be alive ... to live ... to breathe ... to stop the demons in my head from convincing me for one moment, just one precious moment, that I was not worthy enough to live respectively in the land of the free and the home of the brave!

My esteem hungered for the liberty to choose my own blooming battles without the force of a fist in my face ( I ran from a home where I was strapped to a bed and beaten) , or stalking words being crammed down my throbbing throat. (Verbal/mental abuse is REAL and far more serious than physical. Depending on the severity of the physical abuse, time will heal; whereas mental abuse plays like a nightmarish movie repeatedly in your unconscious mind.) ALL my life’s honor craved the liberty to tend my own child and the freedom to raise my progeny with the same pursuit of happiness pledged with the right hand proudly over a devoted heart.

The dream: the American dream of ' The Other Americans ' - the invisible ones who crawl through the shadows in the middle of the darkened night desperately digging for survival, only to rot like fruit with the coming of the burning sun, with their invisibility forever branded by the isolation of the burning rope society has wrapped around their already scarred throats. In the depths of the winter, their tracks began to drag with the weakness in their souls and the weight of their heavy crosses and the truth begins to howl from some uncertain abyss, inhabiting a little seed that society never allows to grow because to articulate the truth about “The Other Americans”, the invisible ones, would surely cast a stain upon the pure and flawless snow.

Their blood is fresh and crystal clear, as we grind them into the heavenly earth while we wipe our perfectly polished shoes, clean our dirty hands and turn our shaded backs to all the ballerina princesses living in the shame of a glass castle, parked in an alley, behind a park, without any constitution and avoided in a vaguely suppressed horror that seems to leap from people like some drowning rush of rats.

My body weak from hunger and my eyes heavy from the pulling of things other than sleep, rain pounds down on the hood of my car, and I shiver not for a stolen blanket, but the warmth of a human heart and the longing of one glimpse of salvation.

One long week in one short lifetime - between homes – between runs. Longing and rummaging for that which ‘normal’ people assume life blesses to one and all - a simple place to hang your hat. Alone, devoured with sorrow, lying curled in a fetal position, cuddling myself like a child cooing for comfort, rocking back and forth, my head hidden in my hands I wept uncontrollably. I wait for the cars … listen to the tailpipes ... rattling ... hoping somebody, anybody will rescue me!

The streets lay in slumber ... vague shadows gather solitude with the pain stretching out for the peace that cradles babies to lullaby of dreams. Time crawls backwards … I find myself anxiously missing the youth of yesterday while simply holding on tight to the raw and ragged fragments of now until dawn kisses the hope of tomorrow ... a tomorrow in which Reverend Russell, like millions of 'THE OTHER AMERICANS', will awaken to the simple cradle of a warm bed and open heart.

'♥'•.¸`'•.¸♥LiVe,L♥Ve,Be♥¸.•'´¸.•'♥'AWAKENED!

Nishli-nil, d.

WWW.onelittleblackbook.net

' Sunlight Sneaking ' by Donna LeClair

2011-07-10T16:23:00.000-07:00

Good Day Middle Age Wanderers!

I hope your weekend flowered you with awakenings that extend outside the lens of middle-age, and all nonconstructive illusions exerted by your inner critic were shunned by the power of your higher self. Let the sightings begin!

Sunlight sneaks behind an open thought, and travels through the vein of time: it nicks the rope that ties the bound, buries the crosses nailed to our pain, and articulates the truth of journeys scathed not by miry waters but freely flowing through the depths of sight. Life conceiving thought through an immaculate mirror channels a blemished fairy-tale awakened by the perception aspired by epochal evolution. Thought conceiving life through a reflection aspired by that epochal evolution perceives beyond the latitude of consciousness, and unconsciously plants a blooming garden that milks the rays of open thoughts.

When lens open, the spectrum awakens beyond the perception of oneself and esteem seeks the leverage that anchors one's self to grounds solid as the force from which one has evolved. Karma riddles illusions spun by hands of time and conceives a path fraught with quicksand or a copious future ventured with wisdom, belief and vision beyond the phantom of our ills.The CHOICE of our Karmic path is ruled but by the interiors of own mind.

My perception has been altered repeatedly by the worth my esteem claims and as I write I realize the ills of my current vision. I ALLOWED myself to evolve into a middle-aged woman with German thighs that look like those of a sumo wrestler, muddled gray hair looking for tenants of birds, and a psyche that is molding itself into my GRANDmother's face: the same lines formed by cautious half smiles, the same loss of fat above our innocent eyes, and the same crimped chin holding back what we really feel. It was my choice, my esteem ALLOWED the metaphorical transition ... or shall I blame it on menopause or the results-thereof: a failed marriage, economical loss, housing bankruptcy, a transformation unrecognizable to the reflection in the mirror ... yada,yada...UGH! Nonetheless whatever or whomever, my spirit clings to the still of critical thoughts that surrender to my inner critics while hope crumbles behind the mask its conviction dons ...

my spirit rides the whips of a coaster with faulty brakes as I cling and fight for every minute …

watching the thief !

My inner critic keeps telling me I AM NOT GOOD ENOUGH to be anything other than. My insecurities are driving all of my relatives, friends, ME, neighbors, anybody and everybody who will listen to me, nuts in the middle of my personal dilemma: I talk, whine, whimper, write, talk, whine, whimper, write, analyze, reanalyze, etc… Ugh, in short, I have become a royal pain in the _ _ _ and then I wonder why ever anyone dare not cross the moat leading to my drowning castle.

My thought shifts beyond the spectrum of my current lens, crashing against the jagged edges of yesterday, and time becomes the hologram that liberates the vibration of another's cry. Humbly, I bow my head in recollection of one who could have but did not WHINE, BITCH or MOAN!

4' 5" plump Laura with childlike gestures and feelings banged her tiny fist repeatedly on my MatchMaker desk; her arms wrapped around her secreted face sobbing with hazel eyes swollen and red. She had just been rejected for the umpteenth million time by a 5' 1" gentleman that I could have sworn would have been the perfect match. A 5' 1" gentleman who dumped her coldly by a single glance in the middle of a mall, ruthlessly proclaiming there must have been a drastic mistake.

“Nobody will ever love me.” Her desperate longing and hopeless look torched the root of my very soul ... melting the heart holding hers.

I reached across the table, put her hand in mine, and soothed it with a gentle stroke of my thumb. Her hand was so soft, and delicate like the being screaming out for somebody ... anybody ... to SEE and LOVE the beautiful butterfly that hid inside this guarded cocoon.There were no words from even a professional Match Maker that could comfort the cruel pain of the eyes of judgment.

I get that we live in a visual society, and our judgements/opinions are governed by the sovereignty of the media, but because of the deficiency of awareness or the desire to seek the truth outside of a theatrical washing machine , we are prisoners and victims of our own vision ... our own society. I understand likes attract likes as I have been GUILTY myself of judging before one opens ones mouth and ASSUMING their IQ matches their attire, and their heart seeks not the same as mine. We liberally endure by our own interpretation of the decrees set forth, and ASSUME one who shies short of perfection must not have self-respect or confidence. Are we turning into a society of invisible beings who hunger for a glance of acceptance? Are we WAITING for someone to love us so that we can love ourselves, or are human beings a tribe that NEED nurturing? Does our survival depend on an awakening sanctioned into the communion of enlightenment for a species carefully woven as ONE?

Esteem makes it tricky to banish the inexhaustible ghouls of riddled pasts; confidence slays with hopes and dreams the obstacles that emerge from under the blanket of tender wounds while time confronts the realism of the ghosts controlling vast intelligible secrets. Wings of godliness break out of its cocoon, and gives itself permission to evolve into a beautiful butterfly that appreciates metamorphose without fearing the unlimited boundaries of the sky.

Tired of the pain, rejection, and heartache, Laura swore not to give up, and go one-step further towards the love for which she so longed.

6' 2" lean and tall Tom was in the same age group as Laura. Everything in their profile fit but the height. I had one reason to trust that Laura's size and shape would not alter his vision – he had a mentally handicapped sister. As a lad he had to learn to deal with the ruthless stares his sister received. It was painful watching the shunning of his own sister, empathizing with the heartache he shared. Now as a grown man, he considered stares and sneers shallow and heartless. He was wise enough to SEE beyond the shell that shelters glowing spirits.
He agreed to meet Laura, "Why not, she sounds nice, what's the problem?"

He did not dump her at the mall, nor did he embarrass her with ruthless declarations, but he did have an intelligent conversation with another human being and SEE the spirit that stood beside him. Twenty-five years and two children ago they left their first date hand in hand, sailing towards the open seas that led to their marriage. Whenever I see either in public, they share their album that perhaps would never have been if one giant man did not huge heart in a tiny delicate package, and open the door to that which lied beyond the realm of sight.

Somebody is always crying - a deep silent cry, under a bed, in a closet, in an office, or on a desk, etc…: a single tear of hope or despair rolls down a cheek, sadness takes over that sometimes leads to minutes, hours, or possibly days of continual weeping. Can you hear the cry or have your senses become numb to that which is silent only in sound?

We are all inexperienced travelers in this great voyage of life ....
every single one of us. The direction of our ship is determined not by the needle of a compass but by the destination we visualize at the end. If we close our sails and screen the winds, we float through shallow waters leading to empty shores. However then, can we open the seas to the flood of enlightenment yet comprehended by the simplicity of our own voyage?

Connect wherever the winds of your voyage guide you. For it is a tragedy not to open the sails of an idle ship. What you shall miss is the vast discovery of oneself and the lessons and mysticism of others sailed forth. To connect with another, one on one as one incalculable spirit to another makes our voyage a success in the truest sense of reality.

I am a 5'4" mother whose esteem can claim two children , and three grandchildren. ( Hi Melinda, Shawn, Bridget, Olivia and Claire . I love you more than the sky and sea ...forever and ever!) My perception is sometimes altered by the fright/ills of my current menopausal position , BUT I know when I connect with you my head lowers because of the honor you bestow upon me ... I take three breaths ... exhale ... throw my head back and SMILE. Thank You for being YOU ... YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE in this middle age wanderer's life and grounded I stand ... PROUDLY!

♥♥⁀‵⁀) ✫ ✫ ✫NISHLI-NIL`⋎´✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*° ✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫ ✫ NISHLI-NIL .•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫ ✫ ✫ NISHLI-NIL•°˜”*°•.✫ ¤ NISHLI-NIL ♥ I AM WITH YOU!
D.

www.onelittleblackbook.net

' Recurring Dream ' by Donna Hinders LeClair

2011-07-07T06:16:00.000-07:00

I have this recurring dream. We are all shattered holograms wandering frivolously inside a gargantuan illusion … unintelligible to the vastness.

Visions shade to fruitless tapestries, voices cease beyond gratitude, synchronized thoughts embezzle revelations, and in the darkness innocence silently weeps whilst hope crawls beyond the ambiguity of humanism.

Epiphany heralds nudities of compassion, visions illuminate ... coring the fertilization of infinite possibilities. Sanctified voices amend perception, energy revolutionizes and nativity of wings broadens the wisdom birthed to the vastness intelligible to the calamitous. Belief soars the heavenly earth and upon its crooked paths and narrow roads wings of godliness swoop up all of the innocent children .

Veracity of love smother the wounds of our children, our societies … ourselves, and the decrees henceforth are cattled not by Judas dollars but simplified through consciousness of virtue and dignity. Sight, voice and compassion pledge allegiance to the wounded, moreover without shed of either blood nor tear, esteem recognizes the crucial rights of beings to love and respect.
Forevermore ages to ages empower a peace beyond the spectrum of archaic lens and birth an abundance of awakenings across a planet sanctioned into the communion of enlightenment for a species carefully woven as ONE. All journey on grounds soiled not by globule of tears, but grateful passages of familiar country to future KNOWN!

Nothing is ever the same.

EVER

"Burning Feet"

2011-07-06T06:36:00.000-07:00

Hello Fellow Wanderers!

I am currently in Phoenix and I am here to tell you, ' IT IS HOT ... 117 degrees!'. REALLY!!! With my hot flashes! Are you kidding ? I have my own oven, and boiling my own stew, I do not need help from Mother Earth for a problem her sibling Mother Nature started. Can't we all just work together on this thing? Walking the other day I burnt my FEET ...no, I wasn't barefoot, I was wearing gym shoes but obviously my stride was slower than the heat. Looking down at my burnt little toes, and dwelling in self-pity, I thought of him ... and the photos.

When wet behind the ears , I owned and operated a dating service. Many colorful characters with volumes of stories crossed my path, and I, the Piped Piker, lead the way to grounds outside the spectrum of their current lens. Him , I remember well as his son was the same age as mine - 3, and the photos he scattered across my desk caused me to excuse myself and flee to the restroom in tears.

There are moments in our lives when the world should shudder to a complete halt, and we should stop to breathe. The sun should cease moving, the wind blowing and nothing should continue because nothing will ever be the same. EVER. It was such a moment – obstacles journeyed beyond thoughts perceived by current lens, spectrum shifted, then the certainty of weeping spirits vibrated through time and space into the stillness of the silence, circuiting light years into the mysticism of immortality.

A year prior to his visit to my office, he was married - HAPPILY, and living the American Dream : 2.5 kids, an SUV in the burbs , 8 to 5 Monday thru Friday job and money socked away for a rainy day. Lots of hugs, lots of love but in one split second his movie changed and life shifted beyond recognition: a fire swept through his home, the flames consuming his young family, his joy, his laughter ... his reason for living. I held him as he removed the photos from his pocket and laid them one-by-one on my desk. We cried as I stared at photos of their remains lying in cinders. Oh shit, I think, and my feet are burnt, it is hot outside, I am menopausal, I have hot flashes. I ... I ... I ...I weep soothing my feet with lotion and the tears remind me of his falling on the photos.

After months of healing, I matched him with a lovely being who now adores their fireplace mantel with LIVELY memories of pitter-patters and hugs are shared and joy perceived behind the eyes that once saw nothing but cinders spread across a vacant field.

Happiness floats: it seizes and personalizes ever so delicately. I know if my thoughts are not those of a constructive nature, I cannot multiple peace and happiness out into the world; if I am peaceful, if I am happy, if I live each moment with courageous faith, everybody in my family, my life, and in our society will benefit from my peace. If I can change , we can all change - all humankind, so therefore I wish for all to LIVE with the little things that in time are perceived beyond the current lens.

Loving Blessings! d.

Crisp Reflections of Life's Perfection

2011-07-05T08:34:00.001-07:00

Good Day Middle Age Wanderer!

Hope ALL is well in the deafening reflections of your lingering thoughts, and my voice is blessing your speckled moments with a ray of sunshine. The sanity of the present is joyous as I find a sacred place to bow my head and cradle my knees to my heart . I give ' Thanks' for the moments sunlight sneaks behind the daily veil of the menopause that bitterly followed the fruitful season of my youth. Winter's frozen blanket hardened its brittle root ... and now, my spirit veils under the refuge of ruffles, wishing the passing of the chill of winter. I dream of spring softly welcoming the dawning of spirit pristine with glories of morning and await for summer to miraculously renew its gracious tales laced with thread of wax .

Time can be a cruel dominatrix. Her laugh teasing as she cracks her ferocious whips against our severed spirits, relishing in the lingering pain her cord continually delivers. Our thoughts feed her mania, and as she draws her weapon, they alone have the supremacy to defy the internment our unintelligible vision sanctions her.

In my moments of sanity, I smile wondering how one so lost could find peace and happiness in such an endless sea of confusion. Hidden behind a polished mirror, spirit knows the key to happiness always reflects in the purity of vision and the voice of awakening. I humbly unpack my bags, get comfortable in the skin of aging, and visit the spirit smothering the globule of tears gracious for the fertilization.

Now, while listening to Shaina Noll's " How Can Anyone Ever Tell You, You are Anything Less Than Beautiful", I sip a goblet of Merlot and light a scented candle and beneath the flickering of the golden glow, I submerge into a bath drawn of warmth, security, and love. My sanity in a world wounded by passages of the unseen, the unheard, the misunderstood and the uncertain but a gentle reminder I am alive to awaken a revolution of nativities birthed beyond the scope of my current lens.

I am a little girl stepping out of cotton panties, and into white flowing silk – melting into a nativity of enlightenment that I am fighting long and hard to earn. I am breathing therefore I am not invisible and through my obstacles I am discovering I am alive to guide the fruitless tapestries to passages crucial to the communion of ages.

Please, I beg of you young followers , do not wait fifty-eight years before looking deep inside the mirror. Eyes wide open face your reflection hidden there, for faith and belief are indeed the best of companions, and our greatest possession - perhaps our only one.

Well, wintry time is calling my name! " Come learn", it echoes! “Olli, Olli in come free - Catch me if you can!”

Heart wide open, I journey onward into the sunlight of spring, reflecting not on crumbling trails, enchanted not by illusions forthcoming, or grieving ghosts of withering pasts, only rejoicing an unbearably rich profusion of the deep contentment of now while fanning my hot flashes and cursing my night sweats!

Loving Blessings to you dear, sweet reader! Write so that I may have the honor of your honesty! d.

Crippled Minds by Donna LeClair

2011-07-04T20:35:00.000-07:00

CRIPPLED MINDS by Donna LeClair

The Story of ROSALIND RUSSELL the ‘Goat Lady’ and President of R Star Ministries Foundation

Life can be one crippling crutch hindered by obstacles riddled upon a path one might think laden in quicksand or from the back of the motorcycle Rosalind Russell flies through the streets in Nepal on - one wild incredible journey. The founding president of the grass root foundation R Star Ministries, Rosalind is one woman who sees the day as an opportunity to recreate avenues of reality and believes as she so humbly puts it, “When there is a woman with a will, there is a way!”

Rosalind spent half of her early years toddling with crutches as of a result of a crippling childhood disease, but comfortably in her living room at our first meeting she declares,” I never used my crutches as a crutch. I never fought with reality; I just did it” After being homeschooled, she went on to Seminary and received a Masters in Interfaith. But it wasn’t until twenty-two years ago after her privileged marriage of many years folded that she dared to run shotgun with visions that were not always clear.

In 1991 she started R Star Ministries, a pro bono prison ministry for local and national inmates and their families. The purpose of her ministry is to keep reality alive so upon their release inmates will be productive citizens. Rosalind Russell trusts reminiscent of conventional bible counseling, ‘Take care of your prisoners as you would yourself.’ Thanks to her personal one-on-one touch and years of interactions with them upon their release her inmates beat the national statistics - THEY NEVER RETURN! But prisons she later discovered can be holograms that turn minds into fearful beings - fearful beings that sometimes life and error discover in the farthest of places.

In 1988 while visiting India, she fortuitously ricocheted over to Kathmandu and ended up being adopted by a Nepali man named Rabin (pronounced Robin) whom Rosalind now considers her son; his entire family considers her Maataye or Aamu, meaning Mom or precious to the heart. It wasn’t until fifteen years later that she found herself caught in a lie of a promised return. After seeing tears on Rabin e-mail when she wrote of her fears of returning to her adopted country, she braved the edges of her own cautious boundaries, and refinanced her home in hopes of a return trip. Within a two month period she was headed to the Kavre district of northern Nepal, where she found herself immersed into the reality of her visions.

The crossroads of Nepal are plagued by a quicksand of poverty, trafficking and terrorism. Rosalind infringes upon its 5,000 year old tradition; she challenges the villager’s crippled minds, cautious boundaries and archaic beliefs for she feared not change but the hindering there-of. In a country where the illiteracy rate is 49% she succeeded, in collaboration with Nepali Rotary Club of Paton, to empower 600 women through literacy programs, expanding their vision beyond the spectrum of their current lens and the holograms of their own fearful minds. She became the pulse behind their strive , elevating lives in their impoverished, war-torn area. Micro-financing groups of women with a cap of 15% for each loan, the dues there-after remaining within the group for their use and after a three year period used to pay for books, pens and much sought after teeth, with a small stipend given to the treasurer who maintains the ‘ bank’ for the women. Her path was becoming crystalline in clarity, and the climb worth all the obstacles hindered by that which once was and that which shall never be again.

Why she thought of gifting Nepali villagers with goats she still has yet to figure out and answer but thanks to donations from Laguna Beach locals and the collaboration of the Nepali government she ended up gifting goats to a group of twenty-five Nepali women - fifty female goats and one male breeder – with the stipulation that they ‘Pay it Forward’ gifting women in another village with two pregnant goats equal to what they had been given or better within a two year period. An act that was the grass root of R Star Foundation subsidiary “Women Helping Women & Children…therefore the world,” and warranting Rosalind the honor of being christened the ‘Goat Lady.

The villagers acclaimed through Rosalind Russell’s guidance and words, “Government isn’t the one who takes care of it…YOU take care of it!” In an area where no school existed, she built from ground up one for 400 children. Daily for ten minutes the children are taught and shown peace. With Rosalind’s presence and influence the villagers have watched the ceasing of trafficking and terrorism as they were lifted from their 5,000 years of poverty.

She didn’t just shepherd goats, she shepherded the women and children of Nepal into pastures green beyond the current spectrum of their lens. She shepherded freedom – the vision of a future where peace need not be taught but freely flow through the land the goats now roam. In a country where she speaks not the language, women and children have learned to identity power and the results thereof from watching her villages grow to over 26! The villages and villagers now have over 11,000 goats emanating from her program in less than six years. Because of her vision, there are now 22 groups of women in literacy classes, with 10% going forward to become teachers.

Last time Rosalind visited Nepal, she was honored with the ‘International Award’ for working with single women of all CASTS, those who are set aside, dismissed, forgotten and ignored – the untouchables! Many ladies traveled for hours to attend the ceremony so they too could freely run with visions that were now crystalline in clarity - a vision that blessed many with the gift of voice in a country where a single lady has none. And in a country where men are allowed the privilege of touch but not women, the forgotten, dismissed, ignored and untouchable struggle with their archaic beliefs of touch, then slowly open their cautious boundaries and tenderly melt in the sweeping arms and vision of Rosalind Russell.

December 27^th , 2008 Rosalind watched as the home she lived in for twenty-nine years burnt to the ground. History laid smothered not in ashes but colonized in the blessings Nepal and life afforded the lessons Rosalind graced. Within a two week period everything she had and things people didn’t even know she had were duplicated and expanded. ” Magic or favor of God, ” she laughed in wonder. Karma? People touching people? Or perhaps a seven year “ Prayer Group” started by Rosalind that dared life to open new roads of perception and challenge those like herself who see the day as an opportunity to recreate avenues of reality. Emotions were born, realities were born, and single moments in time became a fertilization of the infinite possibilities of tomorrows silently waiting beyond the smothering of poverty, terrorism, trafficking and fires.

March 21^st of 2010 I had the privilege of meeting two of Rosalind’s children from Nepal – Santosh and Sima. As she excites about broadening her work I witness a futurist path being laid, aspiring if the heels of her motorcycle ever cools the torch being passed. Glasses are toasted and promises sworn; heads are lowered in thanks, held high in respect. A vision grass rooted in 1988 is now encircled by the sanguinity of fundraisers, corporate sponsorship and grant writing to fund wells yet to be dug, gardens yet to be planted, and art yet to be taught while shepherding crippled minds that have yet to kick the crutches out from under the plague of poverty, terrorism and trafficking . A light that needs to live - no, has to live - Rosalind shall not let die. She can’t let die. For it is, Rosalind knows, the light of the future.

The luxury of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are often confined by the crutches of our own crippled minds, cautious boundaries and archaic beliefs. It is up to us, as proven by the inspirational story of Rosalind Russell, to choose a path riddled not with quicksand but a future ventured with courage, belief and vision beyond oneself. Only with that vision can one truly grasp one woman, one child, or one goat can empower a peace beyond the spectrum of their current lens and birth an abundance of awakenings across a planet sanctioned into the communion of enlightenment for a species carefully woven as ONE. An enlightenment respectively honored by the vision of lady named Rosalind Russell who once upon a youth had the willingness to dare to dream beyond the crutches of life.

Donna LeClair

Rosalind Russell can be reached at:

P.O. Box 4183, Laguna Beach, CA 92652…cell:949.497.4911

rstar@pacbell.net

Cosmic Traveler by Donna Hinders LeClair

' Cosmic Travelers ... REALLY Cosmic Travelers!'

' VERACITIES of LIGHT ' by Donna Hinders LeClair

MINDFULNESS MEDITATION TECHNIQUE

Good Day Wanderers!

Hope your weekend is sprinkling you with JOY and LOTS of SUNSHINE! Tomorrow I shall return to my regular ' Oh my gosh, I have fallen into Middle-Age and Can't get up ' type of blog but as for today, seeming it is Sunday ... My GIFT to YOU:

MINDFULNESS MEDITATION TECHNIQUE

★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.​♥˚¯`·.BREATHE SLOWLY and have a wonderful day! ★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★

KNOWING WE ARE ONE

I LOVE YOU .... D.

' You and I'

IT IS THE WEEKEND .... LOVE !!!!!!!!!

You and I

You and I …

You and I…

And I …

And you…

★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.​♥˚¯`·.I hope you have a wonderful weekend!★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★

Do something GOOD for someone!

D.

" sleeping ......... BEAUTY"

‘PRINCE CHARMING AWAKENS SLEEPING BEAUTY…AGAIN!’

' Touch Me ' By Donna LeClair

Today, I shall cut you a break ... a lighter, more elegant tone ...illusions of Love for the GODDESS in YOU ... ENJOY the JOY!

Touch Me

Touch me when I ask

my eyes are begging you to

TOUCH ME

' THE OTHER AMERICAN '

'♥'•.¸`'•.¸*♥LiVe,L♥Ve,Be♥*¸.•'´¸.•'♥'AWAKENED!

Nishli-nil, d.

WWW.onelittleblackbook.net

' Sunlight Sneaking ' by Donna LeClair

' Recurring Dream ' by Donna Hinders LeClair

"Burning Feet"

Crisp Reflections of Life's Perfection

Crippled Minds by Donna LeClair

★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.BREATHE SLOWLY and have a wonderful day! ★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★

★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.I hope you have a wonderful weekend!★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★¸.·´¯☽¸.♥˚¯`·.¸★¸.♥´★

'♥'•.¸`'•.¸♥LiVe,L♥Ve,Be♥¸.•'´¸.•'♥'AWAKENED!