The Art of Listening

“Say it loud, say it clear ~ You can listen as well as you hear.”

Do you remember those lyrics from the 1988 song; The Living Years*?

You’ve most likely heard that song a hundred times or more – but did you actually listen to it?

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Web of Connection

It’s all about connection.

Making connections.

Fostering and nurturing connections.

As a spider weaves her web she connects one strand to another. In the weaving and connection, the web becomes stronger.

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May the Road Rise Up

There is an Old Irish Blessing which is pulling at my heart strings as I write this little story.

It goes like this:  May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back, May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

I am reminded of my paternal grandmother, Mary, a proud Irish immigrant and a fine woman, who passed on when I was a very young girl. I can still remember her round, smiling face, hair neatly pulled back in a bun. I think about the many grandparents who come through during readings for clients, offering words of encouragement, wisdom and hope.

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Love and Affection

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe deserve your love and affection.”

I ran across this quote, which is lovingly hand painted and was displayed on a wall hanging at a recovery shop in P-Town.

We were winding down a weekend getaway and in a totally blissed out state, when low and behold, Buddha spoke to me.

This striking piece of art stopped me in my tracks.

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Sweet Surrender

There comes a time in everyone’s life when you just have to surrender.

Time when resistance is futile.

We can hang on for dear life and insist all is well.

Insist we don’t have a problem, or care, or concern about _______________________ (fill in the blank).

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Phone Home

How many times, in the midst of a time sensitive issue, do you reach for the phone to call your mother because you know she will have the answer you need  and  stop in tracks and hear yourself say “oh damn, she’s dead”.

(That used to happen to me over and over and over again.  After all – no one loves you like your mother and no one knows you like your mother.)

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