The Lady with the Dragon Eyes

We sat together, facing each other, she and I. We looked into each other’s eyes, something beyond staring and more than gazing. To be part of a deep revealing and connection. She slipped into my soul to be witness to the story of the spirit that lives, for now, in this human body. Communing and relating with an internal environment hardly contained by physical form. Feeling the sovereigns unmarked by time. Savoring the puzzle pieces still not fitted into form and place yet. Discerning a whole picture devoid of layers of consciousness.

While she looked, I noticed too. A feeling that time and space stopped or didn’t even exist or intermixed. Light became twisted and fuzzy, fading, focusing, returning. What was I really in this moment? Countless lifetimes from so many realities danced through my perception. Each revealed for an eternity of an instant to be fully experienced and then departed. A story weaved together, exploring edges for so long. Each building and building and building – to this life.

Those eyes, her eyes – I know those eyes. They are the eyes of dragons. The dragons I challenged in battles and wars. Some would best me, and some I would slay. Each clash would reveal the burning, bright eyes of a brilliant soul sharing deep reverence and admiration for the other. And … the dragons who were my dearest companions , brothers and sisters of the heart. The ones I rode on the backs of across so many starry nights and brilliant days; the ones I rode with into so many contests. Those eyes breathing Namaste.

The discoveries – a being crawling right from the rich dirt of this Earth, leading with a knowing, offering new sheaths of energetic ensembles. A child still with more to say and express. Water spirits of desire and power heard, but not felt. Beliefs to be released. Fullness and richness to be offered. A heart filled soul traveling the untrodden, but true path.

To the lady with the dragon eyes, I offer the breath of Namaste once again and a little Rumi.

Look at your eyes, how small they are, and yet they see mountains and stars and the infinite sky. In this circle of love the universe is one.
- Rumi

A Little Indulgence

A few weeks ago a friend called and asked if she could do laundry at my house since her washer was broken, and I said sure. So she was at my house doing laundry, reading email, and doing the things she needed to do. I was preparing some dinner and asked my friend if she wanted something to drink or some Kefir, which is a fermented milk drink similar to yogurt. She said yes – so in trying to be a little mischievous and unconventional, I poured some Kefir in a wine glass and gave her that.

It turns out I was the one who was surprised because she said nothing about the wine glass, as if that was the most natural way to drink Kefir.

The moment stuck in my mind and over the past couple weeks when I want something to drink, whether it’s water, or a root beer, or Kefir, I often reach for a wine glass.

For most people, the wine glasses only come out when we have guests, or a special meal, or just for wine. It often signifies something different or something special is happening.

Really though why not offer ourselves the opportunity to feel special, to be special more often. It can be with our own family, or even by ourselves. I’m sure the French have some sense of this as wine is such a normal and special part of a day and a meal.

And really we don’t have to limit this to wine glasses – maybe we have fine china, or a special tablecloth, or shoes we only wear on special occasions. Why not celebrate more often?

So here’s a toast, with my wine glass full of water, to more celebration!

My Slow Neighbors

About six weeks ago I moved into a new neighborhood. It’s a little removed from the city, very quiet, and has great views of the mountains. On the small gravel side road I live on now there are perhaps 10 houses total.

The house has a wonderful front porch facing north and west with amazing views of the mountains which are just a few miles away. I’ve been eating out there, reading, sitting, writing – enjoying being outside. With so many neighbors, when a car rolls by, it’s pretty obvious. I’ve noticed one of my neighbors in particular. They drive an older, red, Chevy or Pontiac sedan. The car itself stands out a bit, but what’s more evident is the speed. They seem to crawl down the road, you can almost hear each rock as the tires roll over the gravel roadway. I’ve seen this car perhaps a dozen times and have always been surprised. Most people are in such a rush, it’s unusual to see someone driving so slowly.

I’ve always tried to keep a reasonable speed in neighborhoods in side streets, after all I want to respect the people that live there, and hope that if they ever drive down my street they might show the same respect. So it is here in my own neighborhood, I’ve kept my speed on the gravel road pretty slow. Lately though, I’ve noticed my speed getting slower, almost mimicking my neighbors. For the few times it was unconscious and I didn’t realize I was doing it, yet something stuck with me.

I’m now a regular creeper on my road. It’s become a ritual of sorts. Leaving home, it’s a transition from the quiet, settled space of home to the rest of the world. Coming home, I turn off the main road and immediately slow down and begin the passage back from the fullness of life to the peace of being home. My street isn’t long, perhaps a couple hundred meters from the main road to my driveway and yet those twenty or thirty seconds have an unusual meaning and depth to them. A slowing down, noticing my neighborhood, feeling my soul settle, and then reaching home.

So this evening as I write from my porch in the evening air, I want to thank my neighbors in the red car.