Farmer Strangelove
                       (or how i learned to love a chicken)

It has been almost 5 years since my last post. It went something like this, "We are building a coop, I am getting chickens this week and will soon start looking for dairy goats."  
Aw. The sweet musings of an innocent. Before life as I knew it changed. 

I had wanted chickens for a while. Friends of my kids, visiting from the Ozarks, would sit on the deck and say to me, "You should get chickens Debbie. Fresh eggs. And they will eat the ticks and fleas in your yard."
Fresh eggs? Nice. But you had me on "ticks and fleas." Then the kids went on about birds roosting in trees, and how loud a guinea hen is, and hunting for eggs hidden in the yard that you never found. Until they were rotten.  And it all seemed so far away and difficult and like something other people do. And not city folk like me.

Until I met some chickens for myself. Up close and personal. At a friend's house in the city. Chickens roosting in the basement and ranging in the yard. We visited and watched the flock come in to roost for the night. The rooster did a little song and dance for a special hen along an overhead beam. And it was love. Chicken love at first sight. 

So we built a little A-frame coop from scrap wood and parked it in the corner of my yard and brought home 10 lively pullets. A mix of Araucana, Jersey Giant and other mysteries. My daughter, myself and the grandkids did a whole lot of chicken watching. Especially me. Their every little move was fascinating to this city girl. Scratching, flapping, running, dancing, fighting, perching, bathing and clucking. I was enthralled with my new flock and got to know their many cackles and calls ~ finding food, spotting a hawk, announcing a cat in the yard, the roosters first crow. And then one day, the triumphant sound of the laying song.  Fresh eggs. 

In the early days every chicken had a name. And every fallen comrade had a grave stone. How we loved those first ten pullets. And fall they did. I lost the first four to my dog. And then we had a bad run with a family of raccoons. Everyone wants to eat a chicken. But me. One soon learns the temporal nature of the chicken. It could be a Buddhist tenant. Do not become attached to a chicken ~ they will only break your heart. This is a hard lesson to learn, but it has made me a better caretaker. And a hardier urban farmer. I have learned to always shut the coop up by dusk, how to better keep out raccoons and the danger of city dogs. 

With that said, if predators are kept at bay, chickens can be very hardy. I still have two ladies left from the original ten. Flicka and Cocoa. Those girls have survived cold, wet, snow, frost, extreme heat and animal attacks. Half of Flicka's flank was ripped off in a coon attack. She has healed and is still going strong. She does not even limp anymore. 

I still love to gaze at the ladies in the yard. But I do not name them anymore. The herd has grown. And the love affair has become like a steady relationship. With a bond needing few words. Or names. Endearments are always nice, though. Hello little sisters. How ya hanging? 

I will still name the rooster.  And the name Rudra the Rooster shall stand. Until it becomes Mr Stewboy. And then the title Rudra is laid to rest for another season. But his feathers are gathered to be fashioned into a Mardi Gras Bonnet. 

That is another story. For another time. 

Tips for your first backyard chickens ~ 

Investigate & Study ~  If you can, go to a nearby farm or city critter yard where someone is raising chickens. This is very helpful for you to see the set up and the coop, the laying boxes, and the yard and to ask them questions. Also do research through books and online as to types of breeds. Keep your climate in mind when picking out your breed. 
Build a coop ~ Build a coop first! Do not bring home chicks from the market. First, prepare, look at plans and build a coop. Or buy a ready made coop. Before you bring your chickens home, buy your feed and have your watering method ready. Then go fetch yourself some chickens. And give them love. 

Give them love ~ Chickens need the same things that all living creatures need. They need companionship (do not bring home one solitary chicken. they will be sad). Chickens, like all creatures, need room to move, exercise, sunshine, fresh water, dirt baths, someone to lock them up every night, or a guard dog, and again, love. Which simply means watching over the flock with care. If you do not have the time for this, chickens are not for you. 

They are easy. But not that easy. The work is well worth the reward. Having chickens has changed my life. In ways that are difficult to put into words. Chickens are a gateway livestock. Into another world, which has lead to goats, a mule, ducks, turkeys and a pig, connecting me with an ancient energy of husbandry.  We are now dreaming of fencing in the whole estate and getting some sheep.  We shall see how our little herd grows. But I remember which came first. chicken love.

Going Green

It was my good fortune to write for the KC Wellness magazine since its very first issue. A short article on the benefits of tea.

It was a blessing, as well,to work with editor, Jeanette Schoenlaub-Jackson. She was open and generous and gracious and funny. And a good friend. A friend whom, in the ten years we worked together, I never spoke with face to face. Only over the phone. We always meant to get together in St Jo or KC, but it never happened.

It was Jeanette's idea for me to write a green collumn, which I did for a year. It was good fun and a source of learning and inspiration for me.This was the first column, written in October, 2007.

With love to my editor, Jeanette Schoenlaub-Jackson, 1955-2008

Jeanette is my editor. She is also my friend. I have never met her, I have never even seen her, but I know she exists. Like some bodiless holy ghost, over the phone I pray for 500 more words and she grants the boon and I am joyful in the Lord. We talk about other things than just the paper. We talk about yoga and qigong, ghost whisperers and clotheslines. Jeanette likes her sheets best after they have dried in the sun, been rained on, and then air dried again. I kind of know what she means. I have just made a returning, of sorts, back to an earlier time in my life when rows of white cloth diapers set sail in my yard. A different time not that long ago. How did I forget such a simple joy. The sheets smell great. And if you think the towels and clothes feel too rough, just put them on air fluff for 5 to 10 minutes. You will like it. It becomes habit forming. A habit involving fresh air is a good thing.

Garden talk led to the fact that she wanted someone to write a "green column." She had someone, lost someone, wanted someone to write this column so dear to her heart.
"Why don’t you write it?" she slipped in between rain barrels and ghost tales.
"Your kidding. Me? A regular commitment in 500 words or less?"
"I don’t want to pressure," she said, the third time she had brought it up.
"I..I..I...like to write articles!" I stuttered.
"Yes, I know. Long articles." she said.
"I am no expert on going green. I am just a material girl finding my way!" I protested.
"Well then, you would be perfect."
Mmm. I guess that made sense in a holy ghost sort of way.

I should relish the idea. Lao-tzu is one of my favorites, and he is one terse writer. A sage of few words yet packing a punch. Or as the pithy one would have it, "Make the small big and the few many." There. That was easy. Wisdom that could change a planet in eight words or less. We the people could make small, every day choices in our own back yard and together, create a major shift.

We no longer have the time, luxury or confidence to wait for elected officials to take the lead. We can no longer lay blame at another’s door and believe "they" are the problem. The great sage Pogo discovers this truth in Walt Kelly’s classic comic strip, "We have met the enemy and He is us." Just as true, thankfully, is the Hopi saying, "We are the ones we have been waiting for."

Blessing or cursing people. It is our choice. We have a big corner to turn. It will take the combined effect of many small actions to create a large movement. If everyone makes a few changes it will have a major impact. And the greatest impact is upon our consciousness. As we open our minds to new possibilities, small steps are followed by more and before we know it we are on a pathway that feels good and makes us want to do more and, well, feels like fun. Like sheets sailing in the breeze.

footnote:

Still love my clothesline. Love my fresh sheets. I have not yet gotten rain barrels. They are still on my list to do. I have dug some rain gardens which seem to be helping with runoff in my studio.

Since the column I have planted an orchard of fruit trees.

This year peaches are forming for the first time. I will have peaches this year! Also, I have spied my first apple! Praise be!

I am building a coop and getting chickens this week, (more on that later). I hope to have goats by the end of the year.

One step leads to another and puts one upon a path which leads to fresh air, fresh eggs and best of all, a fresh mindset as to what is possible in the city!

I think of you often Jeanette as you whisper in my ear and heart. I love you friend.

The True Tomato

(first published in One Shot Deal, 2004)

Sweet May. Loverly warm breezes have finally come to the Land of Terrace Lake.

Flowers beds are awakening. Vegetable beds erupting with promise. An arsenal of rakes, spades and clippers have been gathered, and stand at attention next to the wheelbarrow.

It is the season of growth, when I become loving mother to the young and tender. As well, I become ruthless Kali, Destroyer of the Vines.

One morning, while going after the wild grape vine, honeysuckle, ivy, grasses, and Missouri jungle saplings springing up in a flowerbed, my friend Bill stood on my deck, watching, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Why are you killing the pretty green plants?" he asked.
We have this conversation every year. Part of our spring ritual.
"I am making room for the flowers and herbs," I answer, the same answer every year.
"There is plenty of room for all," Bill says, sounding so reasonable and global.
"It looks like there is room now," I gasp, pulling at a root, "but if I allow these pretty, innocent green shoots space, they are going to grow up to be choking monsters."
"But where do the tall grass fairies go?"
He raises difficult ethical questions.
"A gardener makes life and death choices." I pant hacking at a vine.
Bill sighs from his lofty perch, murmuring on about murder and the needless destruction of the pretty green, and then giving up he turns away and goes back to his paper and coffee. I go back to my murderous ways.

It is all about choices. Sometimes a thing must diminish or die for another to take root and thrive. When cutting back a tree root or editing the words of an article, the gardener and the editor must step into the sandals of the Destroyer and make choices of death, in order to choose life.

On a larger and more ultimate scale, we Americans tend to recoil from the very idea of death. It makes us uncomfortable. Rather than come to terms with death’s role in the Cosmic Dance, we fear it, and turn our view from its inevitability. An understandable, yet unrealistic approach.

In Carlos Casteneda’s book A Separate Reality, the shaman Don Juan Matus tells us, "every bit of knowledge that becomes power has death as its central force. Death lends the ultimate touch, and whatever is touched by death indeed becomes power."

He goes on to say, "A warrior thinks of his death, when things become unclear. The idea of death is the only thing that tempers our spirit." The purpose of tempering the spirit, is to bring one into the moment. In the moment we can learn to release past and future striving and to experience freedom of mind in a place of neutrality, acceptance and rest. It is in the present moment we apprehend the constant.

As one of the young people among the ranks of the Jesus People, I was exhorted to lay down my life for the cause. Nonetheless, in the summer of 1970 we were looking upward for the gathering in the sky. The rapture. We were counting on bypassing death altogether. To be transformed, as it were, in the twinkling of an eye.

I suppose, deep down in my swirling subconscious, I still hold out hope for such a scenario. A miraculous escape in 20012. But Bill says I have not a chance of joining the Spirit in the Sky. Because of my murderous ways. He’ll change his tune come harvest time.

So I do what I can to get a grip on aging. With grace. I do my yoga and qigong and eat my garden veggies to maintain myself and keep the edge of the Great Divide at bay. Ironically, as it turns out, although Yoga may bring health to self, its ultimate goal is its annihilation.

Patanjali writes in his sutras that Yoga is the process of stilling the thoughts waves, in order to end our conditioned, false definitions of self. One uses Yoga to uproot locked paterns of conditioning, compulsion, and trauma, which are held in our minds and bodies. Patanjali calls these ingrained patterns, vrittis, or definitions of reality. The goal is to to root out these definitions in the field of consciousness which hinder our apprehension of the true present moment.

Jesus says, "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains by itself alone. But if it dies, it bears much fruit."

It is all about choices. If you want juicy luscious tomatoes in August, a bed has to cleared in the spring.

"You know the vines are only going to come back," Bill jeers from the deck.
"I know." I die daily.

Although it will require work and a bit of death in the July heat, come harvest time, I will not be settling for false, hothouse varieties, but will find harmonious oneness in the True Tomato.

(footnote..Wendesday May 5)

Man oh Man what a beautiful spring! We truly deserve this after the long hard winter. Have you planted any tomatoes yet? Well there is plenty of time. Put em in the ground, plant them in a pot, on a terrace, on a deck, or in a straw bale. It is easy and so worth the reward. And oh so many wonderful varities to choose from, including heirloom varities, which I found at Soil Service. Also I am planning on scoring some bad veggies this week, first Friday, at the Bad Seed Market, 1909 McGee, 4 - 9, in the Crossroads. The Market has local growers and vendors selling organic vegetables and meat and cheese and eggs and bread and jams, as well as, in this season, bedding plants; a wide range of varities you will not find at your local nursery. Check it out. http://www.badseedfarm.com/. Plant some veggies. Eat some true food. Cultivate the True Tomato. deb out.

We Are Water

(first published KC Wellness Magazine 2008)

We are water. 70% of our being. This essential element makes up 83% of our blood, 70% of our brains, and 90% of our lungs. It aids in digestion, waste removal, controlling body temperature, lubricating cells and joints, and the transportation of important nutrients, minerals and chemicals in biological processes. We need it for cooking, bathing, gardening, and a nice cup of tea. Water is life.

The earth is water. 70% of our planet’s surface. 97% of this essential element is salt water. Only 2.5% is fresh water and most of that is trapped in polar icecaps or in underground aquifers. Fresh water feeds our lakes, rivers and streams enabling life upon this planet. This precious resource allows us drinking water, agriculture, transportation, recreation, electricity, a home for our scaly friends and rainbows. Water is life.

We are the Earth. If her waters are threatened, we are threatened. By 2025 the world’s population will have increased by 30% and yet access to safe drinking water will be greatly reduced. Fresh, clean water is a finite resource. Let’s preserve it.

In the Home - Begin changing your cleaning paradigm. Products do not have to burn the hair off the inside of your nostrils to be effective. There are natural ways to create a clean and safe living environment. Shaklee, can be found online. Earth friendly cleaning supplies and laundry detergent are now readily available in every grocery.
Or, make your own cleaning products that don’t pollute, save money, and they work! With baking soda, white vinegar, lemon juice and tea tree oil, you can clean your whole home!

Just go online and check out natural cleaning methods and you will find recipes that will clean bathrooms, floors, windows, polish silver, sterilize counter tops. Safe for your home. Safe for the drain.

Laundry - Choose detergents free of perfumes and dyes. Fabric softener? It’s gotta go. And those pesky dryer towels. What? Give up my Fresh April Breeze? It’s toxic. Instead, to soften add 1/4 cup baking soda to wash cycle. For cling, add 1/4 cup white vinegar to the rinse.
Yard & Garden - Stop using chemical pesticides and fertilizers. Just do it. Go organic. We are killing the birds, the bees and our soil. Run off from our perfect green, sterile lawns are killing our aquatic friends.

Conserve- Take shorter showers. Do full loads of wash.
Rain Barrels. They just sound like fun! You can find affordable rain barrels kits for your garden at the 3 Trails/Bannister Recycle Center. Go to bridgingthegap.org. Talk with Beau. Check out the Re-store, where you can get new and used building materials at bargain prices, as well as Rain Barrels. Proceeds go to Habitat for Humanity. Go to restorekc.org.

Recycle Contaminants - Do not mindlessly pour out old paint, thinners, car oil and other toxic waste to be carried off as run off and end up in my little lake. Please. Take these items to the Household Hazardous Waste recycle center. You have to make an appointment. You can do it. Go to marc.org/Environment/SolidWaste/HHW/hhwfacilities.htm for a center near you.

It is written, "If the river flows clearly and cleanly through the proper channel, all will be well along its banks." Be well.

I originally wrote this for the Green Column for KC Wellness Magazine (love you Jeanette)
Since writing that column I have discovered the joys and joys of cleaning with baking soda, a bit of dishwashing liquid and a splash of vinegar. It makes a wonderful expansive science experiment...fun, smells great and will not melt your skin. If you need to scrub something...make it into a paste. Also I find lemon juice and baking soda work well to scrub a porcelain sink back to white...It takes more work but it is worth it.

Here is a recipe for polishing silver. I use it every winter in the Holiday season. Works for jewlery as well. It is a miracle.

Large Pot, 1/4 cup baking soda, 1/4 cup salt, 1/4 cup liquid dish soap, 1/2 gallon water, aluminum foil

Take a large pot, line the inside with aluminum foil. pour all ingredients into the pot and stir with a plastic spoon. Collect silver want to clean. Bring to low boil for a few minutes. Then turn off the burner and let it sit for another couple of minutes. Then dip your silver into concoction, (careful not to burn yourself. If you have a small colander you can use it to lower silver into pot). Take it out and be amazed! Rinse with cold water. voila!
Let's make every day Earth Day.

I Love Chuang-tzu

I love Chuang-tzu, one of the great Taoist writers and thinkers. His work is deep and wide and absurd and funny. Old School, yet quite unique for its time. Yes, I love Chuang-tzu. Or Chuang Chou as he was known to friends, family and colleagues in fourth century China, where he lived and wrote about life, the universe and everything.

Chuang-tze’s world was much as ours today. A world of ongoing war. The many feudal states were in continuous struggle with one another. Their relentless border wars and genocide became, as in our own generation, a sign of the times. So much so that the period of 400 - 200 BC was known in China as the Warring States Period.

Wars stimulated technological advancement and a new set of skilled workers. Professional soldiers, metal workers, craftsmen and artisans arose. As did technical advancements in writing and communication. These advancements helped spread the myriad philosophies which had arisen during China’s golden age of thought, or the ‘hundred schools period’ of the third century. Teachers and followers of these various schools traveled across the land, looking to sell their brand of thought and social reform to the many feudal lords, hoping to find a patron, official support and a name for themselves.

Most of the schools of thought advocated a plan of reform to cure the ills of the world. Reform the individual, society, ethics, politics, said the Confucians, the Moists, the Legalists, preaching to anyone who would listen. Reform the World.

Living in a generation wearied from the rhetoric of reform and righteousness amidst a reality of war and slaughter, the approach Chuang-tzu presented was one of the mystic. Do not reform the World, he wrote. Instead, free yourself from the World. Free yourself from the values, conventions, and definitions of the World system which act to restrict perception. It is rigid definition, says this Taoist, which causes ongoing suffering. From Chuang-tzu’s standpoint, man himself is the author of his own suffering, because he lives in bondage to a web of mind sets which keep him trapped in an ongoing cycle of fear and desire.

Freedom is one of the major themes running through the writing of the Chuang-tzu..Freedom of Mind. From attachment, division, and rigidity. So that we may discover Original Nature's spontaneity, openness, and creativity. By finding newness in each moment, we connect with the Tao, the Great Way, the Universal Creative Current running through all of Creation.

I love Chuang-tzu and over the years have drunk him up, along with voluminous pots of tea. I would like now, to pour you a cup. Here are some musings of one Chou of Sung.

An excerpt from chapter one of the Chuang-tzu, Free and Easy Wandering, an excerpt from Discussion on Making All Things Equal.


Free and Easy Wandering

In the Northern darkness, there is a fish with the name of Kun, the breadth of which cannot be measured. It changes into a bird with the name of Peng, with a back so long there is no way to know where it ends.
Only with enormous effort can it rise, on huge wings that cross the heavens.
What a bird!
Its wings are like clouds all across the sky.

When the sea begins to move, this bird sets off for the Southern darkness,
which is the Pool of Heaven.
In the book of Universal harmony it is written;
"When the Peng journeys to the southern darkness, he beats the waters with his wings for three thousand li and then rising up on a whirlwind to a height of ninety thousand li, travels on the jet streams of late summer and flies south for three months before landing.

The bluest blue of the heavens. Is this its true color, or just the result of its boundless extent?
So high is its ascent, that when the Peng looks down, all it sees, as well, is deep blue.
Now if water is not piled up deep enough, it won’t have the strength to bear up a large boat.
So it is with wind; if it be not great, it will not have strength to support great wings.
Therefore the Peng waits for the stirring of the seasonal winds and then, beating his wings, catches the support and gliding upon the currents, rises ninety thousand li, and sets off on the sixth-month gale, and bearing the blue sky on its back, sets its eyes to the South.

The cicada and the little dove laugh at this,
saying, "Now just where does he think he is going? I give a great leap and fly up, and up but no further than a few yards before I come down, among the weeds and brambles, and that is the best kind of flying anyway!! Where does he think he is going? What could be the possible use of going up ninety thousand li and fly to the south?"
What should these small creatures understand about the matter? The knowledge of that which is small does not reach to that which is great, the experience of a few years does not reach to that of many.

How do we know that this is so? The mushroom of the morning knows nothing of twilight and dawn; the summer cicada knows nothing of spring and autumn.
Such is the difference between the Great and Small.

Suppose there is a man whose creditably fills some office
or whose influence spreads over a village,
or whose character pleases a certain prince,
or whose talent is called into service for the state,
His opinion of himself may be much the same as these small creatures.

Of which, Master sung of Yung would have smiled and laughed.
Though the whole world should have praised him, he would not have stimulated himself to greater endeavor; and though the whole world would have condemned him, he would not have changed his course. So fixed was he in the difference between the internal and the external. So clearly had he marked out the bounding limit of glory and disgrace. As far as the world went, he didn’t fret and worry.
But there was still ground left unturned.

There was Lieh-tze, who could ride upon the wind. Sailing happily in the cool breeze, for fifteen days before he came back to earth. Among mortals such a man is rare. Yet although Lieh-tze could dispense with walking, he still had to depend upon something.

But suppose,
one could mount upon the eternal fitness of Heaven and Earth,
riding the changing elements to roam through the realms of the Infinite,
and wander, enjoying the boundless,
- what has he, then, to wait for?
Therefore it is said,
the Perfect Man has no thought of self;
the Spirit-like man, none of merit;
the Sage has no thought of fame.


Discussion On making All Things Equal

The Way has never known boundaries. But because of speech there came to be boundaries. Let me tell you what the boundaries are. There is left, there is right, there are theories, there are debates, there are divisions, there are discriminations, there are emulations, and there are contentions. These are called the Eight Vitures.

Beyond the Six Realms, the sage exists but does not theorize. Within the Six Realms, he theorizes but does not debate. So I say, those who divide, fail to divide; those who discriminate, fail to discriminate. What does this mean, you ask? The sage embraces things. Ordinary men discriminate among them and parade their discriminations before others. So I say, those who discriminate fail to see.

The Great Way is beyond name; Great Argument uses no words; Great Benevolence is not kind; Great Modesty is not humble; Great Courage is not aggressive. Tao that is manifest is not Tao. Words that argue miss the point. Perpetual kindness does not work. Obvious integrity is not believed. Aggressive courage will not win. These five are all round, but they tend toward the square, and inflexible.

Knowing enough to stop when one does not know is perfection.
Who can understand an argument that has no words and the Way that cannot be expressed? If a man can understand this, then he may be called the treasure house of heaven. Pour into it, and it will never be filled; pour out of it, and it will never be emptied. Yet no one knows why this is so. This is called the hidden light.

I Love my Bike

I love my bike. My cute shinny blue cruiser with lots of speeds. Even a granny speed for going uphill.

I love the hills. Well, perhaps love is not quite the word. Accept. I accept riding up those hills. It strengthens my legs and my heart, and builds endurance, making each successive outing a bit easier. And of course, with each ride up a hill, blessedly, there is a ride down a hill. Circle of life kinda thing.

I love going down those hills. I love the wind blowing in my face, my hair, my ears. I love the speed gliding down, legs happy, mind happy, like a child, carefree.

I love being out of doors. In the sun, in the mist, with the sounds and scents washing over me, whizzing past me (what was that? Magnolia?). The chorus of birds, the drone of the mowers and the rythm of my breath, the primary sounds.

Soft sounds. A quiet world. Even my brain is quiet. My maniacal, modern, monkey brain. Calm and clear. Except for the occasional inner mantras. ‘Hill cometh. Keep pumping. Almost there. I think I can', like the Little Blue Engine, bringing good things to the good boys and girls on the other side of the Mountain.

The Mountain being my little world and the neighborhood in which I ride. Each day bringing good things to my body, mind and spirit. So this little engine chugs her way along the winding back roads, down the narrow lanes, round the gentle curves, over the challenging hills, down the delightful dales, passing by houses and yards, circling round and round, in spirals and figure eights as I discover the routes opening before me new each day.

I call this my training. Which my friend who is a real biker boy thinks kinda funny. Especially since I have only been riding for such a short time. A mere four weeks. However, the initial outing upon my new blue bike, made such an impact upon my psyche, being so devastatingly revealing as to the condition my condition was in, I have ridden every day since. My heart and lungs have, apparently, been feeling somewhat neglected, and spoken to me, loud and clear. Come on now sister. Let’s ride!

And so I ride. Which is working out very well, since I happen to enjoy it so. A new love, really. It had been nearly thirty years since I sat upon the seat of a bicycle. But they say one never forgets. And since the weather has finally remembered to send some blue skies our way, I can jump on my blue bike and ride about the winding back streets every day, wheeling my way to whatever destination may lie before me. I love that I can don my backpack, hop on my bike and in five minutes get to the bank, the dollar store, or the coffee shop. It is green, it is exercise, it is local. And it allows me a greater connection with my neighborhood. This does not happen in a car. A car is a bubble. A shield of separation from all that hurls by. Not so on a bike. On my bike, I have a closer view of my neighborhood, meandering past homes and gardens and dogs and neighbors, walking by.

My many, many neighbors walking by. Up and down the street. To and fro they go, traveling back and forth from IHOP, in a continuous stream, part of an ongoing Migration. Believing one day they will arrive at their Final Destination. Until that day, they walk on. I ride on. Sharing the path along the Way. Howdy neighbor. This can only be good thing. A Close Encounter of the Neighbor Kind.

On Easter morning I had such one such encounter. Finishing my morning yoga, I pulled my nylon orange shell over my pajama bottoms, and a bright orange sweatshirt over my pajama top, some sloppy boots on my bare feet and a camouflage stocking cap upon my head to venture out for a morning ride in the quiet Sunday light.

It had just rained. The air was clean, the streets were washed and peppered with new seeds, and the pear trees were opening their blossoms unto the sun. Exploring new path ways, I turned onto a street and made my way slowly up a long hill. Half way up the street I spied a young lad running out of his home and away from his sister, who was running after him, in hot pursuit. As I approached his drive, he jumped upon his bike, rode out toward me, and, recognizing me as a fellow freedom rider, confided as he whizzed by, "Gotta get out of here." With an immense smile he sped past, making his escape. His young sibling continued chasing after. She was running down the middle of the street in a purple frock and wearing only purple socks upon her feet. Fnally she gave up and stopped, standing at the crest of the hill. As I made my triumphant assent, she turned her disapproving gaze from the receding form of her brother and turned it toward me. "And just what sort of an outfit is this?" she asked, looking me over. "Don’t you know it’s Easter?"

Guh? I suppose I could have answered ‘What sort of a question is this? Coming from a young sock-footed girl chasing her brother down the middle of the street, on Easter Morn?’ But there was no reply in waiting, no quick comeback, such as, ‘Jesus’ favorite color is orange.’ My mind was benign and inactive like a dumb, new born calf. Peacefully blank from the work, pumping up that hill. The usual quick Aries response was blessedly pacified and tamed by the even breathing. I was able only, to muster a gentle smile, and a ‘good day’ as I peddled past, cruising along my way. An Easter Miracle. A Cycling Gift. This lovely ride brought me much need exercise, a colorful encounter with locals, and a lesson on how to tame the Dragon within. Wear her out.

Well folks, I am turning off my computer to go and greet the great out of doors and take a sweet ride around my gentle burb in Terrace Lake Land. Where all of the locals are mowing, all of the IHOP-ers are walking and some of the children are running down the road in purple Easter socks. A slice of the American Dream. I go now to take a bite. Deb out.

In Spirit and Truth

Jesus said to her, "Woman, believe me, an hour is coming when neither in this mountain, nor in Jerusalem, shall you worship the Father.
An hour is coming and now is when the true worshipers shall worship the Father in spirit and truth, for such people the Father seeks."
- Gospel of John

There is a story in the scriptures which tells of an interaction between Jesus and a woman at a well. Jesus and his companions had been traveling through a region called Samaria. After a long day, his disciples went off to procure food, and Jesus sat resting beside the local well. When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus asked her for a drink.

"How is it that you, being a Jew, ask me for a drink since I am a Samaritan woman?" The Jews had no dealings with Samaritans. The nation of Israel had lost control of this region duing the Israelite Assyrian Exile. As well as bitterness over the loss, the Samaritan people were seen as an impure Jewish/Assyrian mix. The Jewish people, as well, viewed the Samaritan form of worship as corrupt. For although the Samaritans believed in the Talmud, they did not adhere to later Doctrines established over time in Jerusalem. The city of David. The city of God.

Jesus answered and said to her, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is who says to you "Give me a drink, you would have asked Him, and he would have given you living water."

The woman said to him, "Our fathers worshiped in this mountain, and you people say that Jerusalem is the place where men ought to worship." Jesus said to her, "Woman, believe me, an hour is coming when neither in this mountain, nor in Jerusalem, shall you worship the Father. An hour is coming and now is when the true worshipers shall worship the Father in spirit and truth, for such people the Father seeks."

Not only was the woman startled by Jesus’ words, but the disciples, as well, were shocked upon their return, to find him speaking with this woman. Not just speaking. Revealing profound truths. Do not go to the Holy Mountain for find the kingdom. Do not look in the Holy City for the kingdom. The kingdom of God is Within.

A time is coming, and now is, he tells us, when we will see.
Worship is not dependant upon a site.
A time is coming and now is, he tells us, when we will understand. Worship is not dependant upon a doctrine.

Sacred space and established ritual can help bring us out of the temporal and connect us with the Unseen World of Spirit. Rites can be a powerful vehicle for Mystical Experience. But, so can a work of art. Or digging a garden. Or gazing at a flower.

The Hua Hu Ching says, "Chanting is no more holy than listening to the murmur of a stream, counting prayer beads no more sacred than simply breathing, religious robes no more spiritual than work clothes."

Although Spirit may be accessed through ritual and sacred space, it is not dependant upon such things. Rites and doctrine are merely expressions of an Unspeakable Subtle Reality.

And though aspects of worship may be external in nature, the true essence of an act of worship is internal. True worship is within. Unseen. And if one is to find entrance into this hidden dimension, into Spirit, Jesus tells us, the gateway must be Inner Truth.

"A man’s proper truth is pure sincerity in its highest degree," Chuang-tzu tells us. "Without this pure sincerity one cannot move anyone. True sorrow can mourn without a sound. True anger can be awesome even before it is visible. True affection brings harmony even before it brings a smile. When Truth is inside, the Spirit can move abroad. This is why we count it so valuable.
Man’s proper Truth is what he has received from Heaven, operating spontaneously, and unchangeable."

Sincerity. A rare quality in these days of duplicity and cynicism. So make it simple, Jesus tells us. Become as a child. The teachings of Jesus and of Taoism speak of the qualitites of a young child as desirable inner qualities.

A child is pure and holds no design or motive for an action.
A child is open and holds no definition or judgement of an experience.
A child is free from conditioning and abides in Original Nature.
A child’s inner world is in accord with her outer and therefore abides in Truth.
A child, therefore, is Joyous. In all things.

Let us be born anew this Easter. Let our inner accord with our outer, so that we know ourselves. Then we shall be known. Then we shall enter the Kingdom.

It is written.
With all this talking, what has been said?
The subtle truth can be pointed at with words, but it cannot be contained by them.
Take time to listen to what is said without words, to obey the law too subtle to be written, to worship the unnameable and to embrace the unformed.

Love your life.
Trust the Way.

Make love with the invisible subtle origin of the universe, and you will give yourself everything you need.

Awaken and purify the world with each movement and action. You will ascend to the divine realm in broad daylight.

The breath of the Way speaks, and those who are in harmony with it hear quite clearly.

Following this truth with unabashed sincerity, one becomes whole, courageous, indestructible, and unnameable."
Hua Hu Ching


footnote: Happy Easter, Spring Festival, Season for Newness. One of my favorite Jesus stories. Not meaning to be preachey (mostly preaching to myself). For many have already had their sermon this morning. Some held service walking their dog in the morning light. I go now to join the choir of birds and work in the holy garden.