tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29797109680419438072024-03-05T01:54:38.383-08:00The Great FamilyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408350888265521607noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979710968041943807.post-83280424020480617842016-02-28T08:47:00.001-08:002016-02-28T08:47:57.121-08:00The Rim of the World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WrbRyb2IoOq9H7wYF6-remAwl6iiA4QyEkSGDLsPF9FUBeF3S57AnEn40OPrfhqavbOHujY1uWHhNVMr-MNkJ7LHVzMqBfNV63L1u_dt1frNB3d07o9Wc6sRqMZeHf-y9eogBfcYZVA/s1600/meditation+edge+of+world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WrbRyb2IoOq9H7wYF6-remAwl6iiA4QyEkSGDLsPF9FUBeF3S57AnEn40OPrfhqavbOHujY1uWHhNVMr-MNkJ7LHVzMqBfNV63L1u_dt1frNB3d07o9Wc6sRqMZeHf-y9eogBfcYZVA/s320/meditation+edge+of+world.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i><u>The Rim of
the World</u></i></b></div>
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<b><i><u><br /></u></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> for Jeanice Darling</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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At times, in
the expanse of our years, </div>
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each of us
must flee</div>
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to the Rim
of the World.</div>
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For
solitude. For perspective.</div>
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Our Holy
Spirits detached,</div>
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gazing from
a distance into the dancing waters </div>
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in the Well of Humanity…</div>
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listening to
the keening chaotic hum of Life.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In necessary
isolation, we shatter and re-integrate</div>
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in spiraling
waves.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Again.</div>
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Again.</div>
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Again.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Coming into
alignment … into integrity…</div>
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into the wholeness
of Being.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But, oh my
dearest loves…</div>
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the work of the world inevitably </div>
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calls us
back</div>
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into its magnificent
messiness.</div>
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Into the
joyous confusion of unfolding:</div>
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Life and
Death and Rebirth.</div>
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<br /></div>
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You’ll have
to come back eventually.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But not
today.</div>
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Take your
time.</div>
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You have
time.</div>
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Breathe
alone into the vastness </div>
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at the Rim
of the World.</div>
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Mend the
internal rifts.</div>
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Heal.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And when you’re
ready,</div>
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rejoin the Dance.</div>
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The rest of
us are here.</div>
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Waiting.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We’ll always
be here to welcome you back.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Nora Place
Morbeck</div>
<br />
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2-28-2016</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408350888265521607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979710968041943807.post-22336239911675120052015-12-27T08:20:00.000-08:002015-12-27T08:20:01.967-08:00What's My Motivation?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1KpV1EuoS88wzTXAF_kX9PxCkvHkXjafhA0HMx9vkilQy0NRteKEiSXU1IrL0Nxv0DD0vgcWqHulkbUkr5w2iRXRkTGRFbLP18cOtHimstuzX-SV51hbzwc62QDS234-OBa3vPybS_w/s1600/smokey+and+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB1KpV1EuoS88wzTXAF_kX9PxCkvHkXjafhA0HMx9vkilQy0NRteKEiSXU1IrL0Nxv0DD0vgcWqHulkbUkr5w2iRXRkTGRFbLP18cOtHimstuzX-SV51hbzwc62QDS234-OBa3vPybS_w/s320/smokey+and+me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18.915px;">Nose to nose with Smokey Joe</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">There’s an old joke in theatre circles. Actors always analyze the parts they play, questioning why their characters would or wouldn’t behave in certain ways. What motivates the character? So, during a rehearsal, the director asks the actor to walk across the stage, and the actor responds “What’s my motivation?” Without skipping a beat, the director says, “Your paycheck.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">Of course, I was never paid to be on stage while I was in college. No financial incentive there. And now, many years later, I find myself in metaphoric director’s shoes, asking my horses for certain behaviors. I can almost hear them ask, “What’s my motivation -- and where’s the paycheck?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">In the past eight years, I’ve abandoned the idea of controlling my horses. Control is a great illusion. In a physical contest, my horses will win – hooves down -- unless I bully my way through our encounters. I’m not interested in bullying. I’ve discovered that collaboration is really a better goal. I’d rather accomplish things together, as partners and friends, than have to pretend I’m stronger or in charge. I ask rather than demand. It seems to work better for us.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">Motivation factors into the collaborative dance. Sure I can ask for a behavior, but if it doesn’t make sense to the horse – and if I’m not clear about what I want – why should my horse want to cooperate? What’s his motivation?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">I needed to break behaviors down into smaller increments, layering new information onto the already learned behavior. It comes down to this:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">Whatever I’m asking has to make sense to my horse. An intelligent being questions the reasons behind any request. Horses are really no different than most humans in this way. There has to be some purpose or meaning involved, other than </span><em style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">because I said.</em><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;"> Common sense – horse sense -- requires me to consider what the horse understands as a reasonable request. The next step for me is to ask for a simple behavior that, when achieved, results in a reward. Rewards make sense. Simple behaviors transform over time into more complex skill sets, all based on motivation and paycheck.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">Enter the clicker and a bag full of horse treats. Horses eat approximately 75 % of their waking day, so food is a logical and inviting “paycheck” -- not to be mistaken for a bribe. A bribe is something you dangle in front of someone before a behavior to coax the person (or horse) into doing what you ask. A reward comes after, when the behavior has been satisfactorily presented.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">In truth, food equals motivation – but it’s not the </span><em style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;"><strong>only </strong></em><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">motivation. My horses now see the clicker and treat pouch and know we’re going to play. The interaction has become a game, less about eating and more about connecting and figuring out puzzles together. It’s fun, and horses love to have fun! Now there’s a great motivating factor!!</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">And what does the clicker do for me? It requires me to focus on exactly what I’m asking. If my horse doesn’t understand what I’m asking, I have to adjust and communicate more clearly – asking for less or simply asking for something differently. If I’m not clear, how can I expect my horse to understand? After all, we don’t exactly speak the same language.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">So, the clicker trains me, too. When I’ve asked clearly and clearly see the desired behavior, the click isn’t just for my horse, it’s for me, too. It says, “I got it right! Yea for me!!”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.61px; line-height: 18.915px;">And Yea for all of us who endeavor to bridge the communication gap in positive ways! What’s the motivation? The paycheck? At the end of the day, I think my paycheck is mutual love and friendship.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408350888265521607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979710968041943807.post-39549683248965520352015-08-10T05:27:00.003-07:002015-08-10T05:27:44.545-07:00Everything Changes...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcw1eQSW_tz3jksuIKUwbbjSkAmeHthToUzA2SXGoGks_d4sNFByDGqBz20zu6RMWaZO5npANiR-BaL3ejnABGFRXHsur7-pUMXdIyxxk3v3cgFsJ7c3vs44YS2dRFWuyWY-MkQ-eay4/s1600/Bordello+Lamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcw1eQSW_tz3jksuIKUwbbjSkAmeHthToUzA2SXGoGks_d4sNFByDGqBz20zu6RMWaZO5npANiR-BaL3ejnABGFRXHsur7-pUMXdIyxxk3v3cgFsJ7c3vs44YS2dRFWuyWY-MkQ-eay4/s400/Bordello+Lamp.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
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Everything changes…</div>
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At this time last year, my family was leasing Paradise… a 25
acre estate with my horses grazing happily by a pond. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The house was old, fantastically quirky, in need of love and
absolutely perfect for us. It was the
first place we ever lived where I had my own space ~ my study ~ where I could
sit quietly and meditate or write or just daydream as I gazed out the window
into a sea of leaves. My husband, likewise, had a space of his own – an
expansive Man Cave, enviable enough to make any male drool. There were fireplaces and a sunny kitchen and
a full-sized concrete-floored basement for my son’s rip stick antics. Our
master bedroom had an incredible view of the pond and pasture, our bed nestled
beneath a red, glass light fixture that I dubbed the “Bordello Lamp” – a funky
piece of artistry that I can best describe as sexy in a classy, trashy kind of
way. It always made me smile. I’m just that kind of weirdo.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We had room to spread out… woods to explore, a fire ring by
the pond, an outdoor bath under the magnolias, wind chimes singing on the front
porch, gardens. </div>
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<br /></div>
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All of our animals had space,too, in this happy
kingdom. Dogs, cats, horses and chickens
– all content to just <b><i>BE</i></b>, because just <b><i>BEING</i></b> is what our animal friends do
best.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There was a sigh of peace in the air; a deep feeling of
belonging. It’s possible to feel loved
by a place, and I felt profoundly loved by the spirits there. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It was a place of healing for me. Old wounds, untended to for years,
healed. Doors opened in my soul. New passion kindled in me. My heart expanded. I reclaimed myself and
fell in love with me again. Every day
was a moving meditation and a prayer of gratitude.</div>
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It was magical.</div>
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It was our Haven.</div>
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I won’t say that all
good things come to an end, but some things do.
We were only leasing Paradise, after all. The property was for sale when we moved there
in late 2012. We knew it could sell, we
knew we might have to move, and so our stay was a dance in temporariness. It was a risk we were willing to take.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The property sold earlier this year, and after many months
of chaos, meeting challenge after challenge, we’ve resettled in our new home,
not too far away from our former Haven.
The new owners allowed us to take a few mementos of the place with us --
including my beloved Bordello Lamp, which now hangs overhead in my study.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We’re incredibly grateful for our new place. It’s a
blessing; a safe place to reorder our dreams, reshape our goals and rebuild our
lives. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Is it Paradise?</div>
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<br /></div>
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What I’ve come to realize is that Paradise really isn’t a physical
place. It’s not somewhere you visit, it’s not really something you can buy, and
sometimes it’s only temporary state of being.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Truly, what I’ve discovered is that Paradise is within. The Haven is within. It lives in our hearts and minds.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’ve always considered myself a fortunate person. One Paradise evolves into the next, carried inside
– a lesson I’m lucky to have learned. </div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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I’m grateful for everything. As I write in my new study, my internal
Paradise basks in the external glow of a sex-red Bordello Lamp. I love it --
because I’m just that kind of weirdo.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408350888265521607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979710968041943807.post-8604883224485354092014-07-15T05:18:00.000-07:002014-07-15T05:18:09.293-07:00I Don't Have a Rooster -- An Open Letter to My Neighbors<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/t31.0-8/10329851_689037811150881_2613648642484736807_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/t31.0-8/10329851_689037811150881_2613648642484736807_o.jpg" style="text-align: center;" width="400" /></a></div>
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Dear Neighbors,</div>
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<br /></div>
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I promise you; I don’t have a rooster. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I know that you must hear what you <i>believe</i> to be a crowing
male in my chicken yard. In the early
morning hours, I suspect you may be slightly irritated by the occasional
cock-a-doodle-do, despite that my property is zoned agricultural and it’s OK
for me to have livestock. But I assure
you, there is no rooster on my property, nor is there likely ever to be one. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The culprit is actually a hen, who carries the distinctive
name, Princess Mindy Bird Brain – Mindy for short. When she began to crow one
day, I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know
hens were capable of vocalizing in such ways, but there she was – educating me
in the quirky ways of certain chicken girls.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://scontent-a-atl.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/t1.0-9/10488310_689038494484146_2976958933677426166_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://scontent-a-atl.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfp1/t1.0-9/10488310_689038494484146_2976958933677426166_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>Of course, at first, being hearing impaired, I didn’t trust
my ears. I must’ve imagined it, much
like I sometimes twist the lyrics of a song and end up singing it wrong for
years. (That’s happened…) Then Mindy did it again – an unlikely, un-dainty, rusty
croak emanating from my princess, who at the time was an only hen. It could be no other.</div>
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The crowing doesn’t happen all of the time, but often enough
for me to finally Google “gender confusion in backyard hens.” What did the world do without Google, right? Apparently, there is an uncommon but not
unheard of phenomenon in hens known as Spontaneous Sex Reversal, and Mindy’s
odd crowing behavior does seem to fit a bit of the profile. </div>
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Except… while abnormal hens who experience this reversal trend
tend to take on physical rooster traits, such as increased size, elongated
necks, increased spur size and distinctive combs, Mindy hasn’t developed any of
those signs. Sex reversed hens usually stop
laying, due to ovary damage. Mindy,
however, still proudly presents me with an egg every day.</div>
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So, what gives? She
doesn’t display the usual signs of Spontaneous Sex Reversal, so what do I have
on my hands -- an abnormally abnormal hen?
That would be just like me to have such a thing, wouldn’t it?</div>
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Now Neighbors, I know you’re already aware that I’m a
sarong-wearing, barefooted hippie who hugs horses and herds cats – and you
tolerate me quite nicely, thanks -- but would you be shocked to learn that I had
a conversation with my hen about her non-mainstream behavior? Well… I did.</div>
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In my quest to understand rather than judge, I questioned
her about why she felt compelled to crow.
Of course, she didn’t answer in words, but in behavior, which I observe very closely. </div>
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Here's what I know. Mindy has a story. She and her sister were rescue chicks, but Maggie died in
their first year, leaving Mindy alone. Even
with plenty of handling and love from her humans, she lived on her own for
almost four years before welcoming two newcomers this past spring. </div>
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I wondered out loud, “What do we do when we’re alone?” Answer:
We adapt. She had no rooster to
protect her and no other hens to keep her company, so she developed a new coping mechanism for those times when she felt threatened: crowing. Sort of a warrior chicken battle cry. And I think that living alone, she kept herself company with
the sound of her own quirky songs. I get that, because I sing to myself all the time when I'm alone. </div>
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My conclusion is that she's evolved into a strong, capable Bantam/Rhode Island Red mixed Bird of Power. How awesome is that?</div>
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Mindy found her voice, and damn it! She’s speaking up. OK.
It’s not a dainty voice. It’s not
particularly feminine where chickens are concerned, but it’s hers and she owns
it. When she has something to say, she’s
going to say it. </div>
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So, Neighbors, I’m going to encourage you to embrace Mindy’s
crowing, if you can. It’s not intended
as an insult to your pre-dawn, pre-caffeine experience.
It’s the croaky song of an empowered Sunshine Chicken Girl, proclaiming
to the world that it’s a new day.</div>
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Rock on, little red hen!!</div>
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Sincerely,</div>
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Your Hippie Chick Neighbor</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408350888265521607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979710968041943807.post-43637394992288583152014-07-10T19:43:00.000-07:002014-07-11T08:37:06.468-07:00Life Is Messy<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s summer. I’m on
the move. Gardening. Dancing.
Cleaning stalls. Mowing the
lawn. Feeding chickens. A dozen projects always in the works.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted … drenched in sweat and
dirt with mud crusted to my bare feet.
My greying blonde curls twist into humidity ringlets, often accessorized
with strands of hay. I smell like horses
and patchouli and fresh air and earth.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvG9phm6jmPSd4uRPiruv1abA8iNec3IR3x2xnS6QIuvrzIFOiFxhyGOI1FORc-YJPNt-ica0CiG4Ct5SAQZjR6HdNprcbEqHbo4rqNWJgUAD18BIS1Z7wRelDJaQ6ZKQRhIex6whDK_4/s1600/P1010145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvG9phm6jmPSd4uRPiruv1abA8iNec3IR3x2xnS6QIuvrzIFOiFxhyGOI1FORc-YJPNt-ica0CiG4Ct5SAQZjR6HdNprcbEqHbo4rqNWJgUAD18BIS1Z7wRelDJaQ6ZKQRhIex6whDK_4/s1600/P1010145.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I am unbelievably happy, because being a mess means that
I’m fully engaged in Process. I’m shifting
and making progress. </div>
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To me, a life well-lived requires that we get messy from
time to time: physically, emotionally, and
spiritually. </div>
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I’m going out on a limb here to assert that getting messy is
necessary on some level in order to grow. But I also understand that the very thought of
getting our metaphorical – if not literal – hands dirty creates huge resistance
in people. After all, we’ve been taught
to wash with antibacterial soap. We’re
taught to abhor life’s messiness just as we are the unseen germs on our skin,
despite that they are part of our natural existence. Even minor chaos is
uncomfortable in a world that craves predictability, stability, and order, all
wrapped up in tidy packages.</div>
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Being messy means that we’re forced to accept the discomfort
of change. In my own experience on
life’s spectrum of disarray, the less willing I’ve been to embrace change, the
harder it’s been to navigate its ups and downs.
The more I’ve resisted, the harsher it’s been, because along with the
loss of my illusions of control there comes an inevitable shove into a state of
surrender. I wasn’t raised to
surrender. I doubt many people are.</div>
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I think that many of us were raised with the notion that
surrender isn’t an option. If something
isn’t working, we’re conditioned to try harder to make it work – to force a
situation into reasonable parameters of winning. To surrender means to lose in the common core
understanding of things. It means…
<i><b>gasp!</b></i>... failure. </div>
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It’s interesting to me that some of the people we consider
brilliant and successful have spoken with such high regard of failure.</div>
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“Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve
greatly.” Robert F. Kennedy</div>
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“Failure should be our teacher, not our undertaker. Failure is delay, not defeat. It is a temporary detour, not a dead
end. Failure is something we can avoid
only by saying nothing, doing nothing, and being nothing.” Denis Waitley</div>
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And my favorite…</div>
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“The phoenix must burn to emerge.” Janet Fitch</div>
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Inspiring words from big thinkers. </div>
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To mere mortals, however, the cringe of failure resonates
with loss and despair. It rises from
fear … of making mistakes that can’t be undone, of making the wrong choices at
the wrong times, of experiencing judgment by our loved ones and the inevitable
shaming that comes with it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We are shamed in our society by the threat of failure, and
messiness is a sign that we could fail because it takes shape in the unpredictability of risk-taking. Getting messy means that
we’re allowing ourselves to experience the vulnerability of not always knowing
where we’re going, but moving forward nonetheless. It’s a realization that our restlessness and
discontent are real and can no longer be confined to neat, tidy packages.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting messy isn’t a popular choice. It’s not the path of least resistance. Sometimes, though, the socially acceptable
confines must completely abandoned, even leveled to the ground. Our internal
landscapes must give way completely in order to achieve something greater. </div>
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It’s scary to think about, isn’t it? The process of change can
feel like dancing with a hurricane or shaking apart at the epicenter of an
earthquake. It tears us apart so that we
can reconstruct ourselves from a new foundation.</div>
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<br /></div>
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How we approach change is up to us. We can choose to accept that life is messy
with trepidation or joy. I choose
joy. I choose risk-taking; some measured
and some motivated by radical trust.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m going to get filthy in the process. But at the end of the day, I’ll strip naked
and shower off and curl up in bed with a good book… and I’m satisfied. </div>
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Tomorrow I’ll rise and do it all again.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408350888265521607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979710968041943807.post-55586493934988660532014-07-09T16:25:00.000-07:002014-07-09T16:25:31.074-07:00GratitudeIt's fitting to begin with thanks...<br />
<br />
When I pulled up my horoscope last week at <a href="http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/">http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/</a>, I knew that my first post on my brand new blog had to be expression of gratitude. Here's what the site's creator, astrologer Rob Brezsny, has to say.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">In the last two decades, seven Academy Award winners have given thanks to God while accepting their Oscars. By contrast, 30 winners have expressed their gratitude to film studio executive Harvey Weinstein. Who would you acknowledge as essential to your success, Libra? What generous souls, loving animals, departed helpers, and spiritual beings have contributed to your ability to thrive? Now is an excellent time to make a big deal out of expressing your appreciation. For mysterious reasons, doing so will enhance your luck and increa</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">se your chances for future success. </span></blockquote>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Well, every bit of luck helps, and I certainly do want to be successful in this new endeavor... so here it goes...</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsGG-ZQn1-Xd5A-7kEwD_hY3WErFwDR6CR6lewre4fSG138LHiN_GSuSDTVd2npH3Qh66QuhpgbV0M57VUEffk-Pr8AuMqHGpQ7bWU8U9wTMIaS5nZjeUI5knIWcm44mJMzwiEtT529pQ/s1600/P1010173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsGG-ZQn1-Xd5A-7kEwD_hY3WErFwDR6CR6lewre4fSG138LHiN_GSuSDTVd2npH3Qh66QuhpgbV0M57VUEffk-Pr8AuMqHGpQ7bWU8U9wTMIaS5nZjeUI5knIWcm44mJMzwiEtT529pQ/s1600/P1010173.JPG" height="240" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Every morning I wake, slide groggily out of bed and glance at the reflection of my rumbled mane in a nearby mirror. Every morning I open the blinds to the window that looks out over the pond. I look further, across to the pasture where my horses graze. Every morning, I offer up prayers gratitude for my beautiful haven and for everyone connected to it.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">I am blessed beyond imagination to be here. I am blessed by my immediate family and family of friends; by all of the animals who have come and gone in my life, each offering its own lesson; by the wild things and the land, for which I am a constant steward.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">I am grateful most of all for the Old Ones, my Ancestors, who set my feet on this Path. They lived so that I may live, and I work every day to make them proud. I am thankful for their guidance, even when I don't understand the directions in which they nudge me. I am awed and humbled in their presence. I lay at their feet and surrender to their higher wisdom, knowing that they are always with me, that I am always loved.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Fortune sides with she who dares. I dare in gratitude to begin again, here and now.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">I encourage you to share your gratitudes. I welcome your comments with the directive that, no matter what topic I post, we all play nice, with respect for dissent should we disagree. Let's make this about us. Let's see what happens.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Let it begin...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408350888265521607noreply@blogger.com1