WRITE FROM THE HEART

The Greatest Gift

2011-12-27T09:30:00.000-08:00

“Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering.”

~Winnie the Pooh

There was a group of children from the U.S. that were asked the question: What is love?

These kids ranging from four to eight years old eagerly responded and these are their responses...

Rebecca, age 8: Well my grandmother got arthritis and she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore so my grandfather does it for her all the time now even though his hands got arthritis too. That's love.

Micah, age 6: If you want to learn to love better you should start with a friend you hate.

Jessica, age 7: You really shouldn't say I love you unless you mean it, but if you do mean it you should say it a lot because people forget.

And my favorite...Bobby, age 5: Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and just listen.

This has been a very different holiday season for me – having a broken arm, limited mobility, and lots of time at home alone without being able to work. Somehow my heart knew there was a gift hiding in the mystery of this broken arm…in letting go. How very much we cherish holding on and clinging to the familiar. But this time I wanted to see what would happen if I truly surrendered.

At first I struggled to do even the most mundane of chores, like folding laundry. Have you ever tried folding laundry with your dominant hand tied behind your back? Mornings I prepared meals, washed the necessary dishes, and vacuumed one-handed, then later in the day, once I got my cast off, that same left hand spent hours massaging, stretching, and rubbing the weak right hand and arm with soothing oils and creams.

Somewhere along the way I stopped struggling. I stopped trying to keep up. My left hand was tired. But more importantly my whole being needed a rest from all the doing of daily life. I let the dishes soak and a light coating of dust settled like new fallen snow on furniture and floors. Laundry stayed heaped in baskets and the few folded things languished on chairs and my massage table because it was impossible in most cases to put them neatly on shelves or in drawers without them falling back out. I found ways to make meal preparation simpler; no easy task for someone who is gluten intolerant and cooks most things from scratch.

Thankfully a few friends insisted that I not buy Christmas gifts. The mere thought of struggling to wrap gifts or write Christmas cards with one tired non-dominant hand seemed daunting and funds are temporarily in limited supply. When friends stopped by and offered to take on my household chores, give me gifts, prepare meals, and massage my wounded “wing,” I let them.

Days and weeks went by so quickly. It felt like I was accomplishing nothing. I didn’t spend much time actively seeking storytelling or speaking engagements. Just as chores were left by the wayside, I hardly lifted a finger to write stories or poems the way I dreamed I might have if I had two functioning hands. Even tapping computer keys was at times frustrating because I accidentally hit buttons I didn’t want to hit and partial emails would sail off into cyber-space or be deleted altogether.

Normally I would not give myself over to these things easily – to being only the receiver, to doing nothing - and there were still a few dangling threads of guilt, like the last few strands of tinsel that cling to the Christmas tree branches. But in light of my recent mission of learning how to “let go,” I even let go of asking how I would ever catch up or repay the favors and allowed myself to float along in the warm river of Love.

So what DID I do? I walked. I read…some. I did what little yoga I could do, because it takes me to my calm place. Any time the temptation crept in, I consciously turned my thoughts away from worry. Mostly I was alone in a quiet bubble and thought about people, living and in Spirit; all those who have passed through on their way to somewhere else and those who have stayed or joined me on the path recently. There’s not one that I would give up, even in the painful times, for the things I’ve learned and the ways I’ve grown from knowing them.

I cried more, which some might see as a depressing thing, but for me it was one more way of being vulnerable, opening my heart to what is, and letting life flow through me instead of blocking the dam. There is something so incredibly touching in allowing someone else to wash your hair or clip your fingernails. I thought of all those in worse positions than I – the handicapped and elderly – and it became clearer than ever how very much we all need each other because at some point most of us will be required to receive in our infirmity.

Perhaps it was losing the use of my arm that brought me to missing my deceased parents and my estranged brother and family more than ever. Losing those you love CAN feel like losing a part of yourself because in truth, they ARE a part of you. Was I living in the past by giving in and letting tender memories wash over me? Some might say so. But in those memories there is so much good and beauty. Why would anyone deprive themselves of that? Our Creator made the yin and the yang for a purpose – night and day, sunshine and rain, the tears and the smiles – and gave us memory to turn to for comfort and an honoring of sorts. In the quiet moments when I remember those past times and the people I shared them with, the free flow of tears opens my heart. Only then, with that open and vulnerable heart, can I be fully open to YOU who are here NOW.

So in and around the tears, I also found more ways to connect to people and to be thankful that they are in my life. Emails were accompanied by meaningful photos or videos that conveyed my heartfelt messages with fewer words. I spent tons of time “liking,” “commenting,” “posting,” and “sharing” on Facebook; something that I have often felt was an unnecessary consumer of my time became a welcome activity that connected me to people I really care about. Now, having my Sunday mornings free, I was able to fulfill my dream of finding a church “home” and supportive community. I took part in new groups of people and met with friends on the phone or in person. There has been more precious time to spend hugging my aging doggie and caring for her special needs. In spite of my “non-doing,” some storytelling work, offers of help, and opportunities beyond my imagination poured in!

The emphasis does seem to center around gift giving this time of year. All of that started with people coming TOGETHER in various traditions to remember times when the Creator bestowed gifts on humankind…the birth of a child who would become a historically revered teacher of Love, lamps that stayed lit long beyond what was logically possible, the return of the Sun and longer days, and many others.

What rang loud and clear for me in the silence and tears, the “doing nothing,” is that the holidays are not about presents, it’s about PRESENCE – now and all through the year. I realized that I have enjoyed every minute of this holiday season more than ever before because it has been filled with Love and connection rather than being filled to the gills with doing and buying. I know enough about the “flow” that I will be given plenty of opportunities to help others in their time of need and I will most likely give some form of material gifts. Yet, I see very clearly that there is no material thing that can possibly convey my love better than just being there and there is no greater gift that I have ever received than someone’s generous gift of their time, even if it is to just sit quietly doing nothing TOGETHER. In the moments when I think of my deceased or lost loved ones and the tears flow, perhaps it is they who are tapping me on the shoulder to share their love. And though it brings tears, I wouldn’t miss that acknowledgement for anything.

I wish you all many cherished moments of Doing Nothing and sharing your beautiful and very Divine Presence! Thank you for being a part of my life!

Happy Sappy Sentimental Holidays with Love and Hugs,

Robin

Rose -Colored Glasses

2011-11-04T18:53:00.000-07:00

Just catching up after a life altering journey to the World Peace Gathering in Assisi, Italy. What an amazing trip, with wonderful people, trekking many miles over the mountains in all kinds of weather, sometimes losing sight of the valley below as we rose above the clouds and soared with the birds!

The highlight for me, and for many of us I imagine, was making the final assent to the gates of Assisi, with most taking turns in groups of about eight at a time to push the wheelchair of our dear wounded pilgrim (who had broken her leg) up the steep incline. At times out of breath and for sure weary after the ten day hike, all the while we chanted a beautiful song and moved as a collective whole. As we made our way through the streets and down to the pilgrim marker – the touchstone for all pilgrims - the bells of the basilica pealed and tears of joy and triumph spilled over every face.

And no wonder the feeling of joy and triumph! For most of us, the journey was not what we had expected when we signed on. We initially experienced disappointment when we found out that the Pope would not allow religious leaders to say their respective prayers, but in the end the prayers were delivered times ten by some 40 passionate souls. We gathered with fervor each brisk morning to recite the prayers of 12 faiths from the 1986 gathering. Did it really matter after all is said and done, how the prayers made their way into the ethers? Are we not one body, one mind, one heart?

There were a few mishaps in the first days – a broken leg, twisted knee, and my own broken arm ,(yes, indeedy-do…it was a “trip”) yet spirits remained high and joy abundant. As I geared up for the walk each day, with a wounded arm and heavy cast in tow, I found myself carried along easily with the energy and enthusiasm of the others. When more energetic walkers paced alongside me for a time, I felt stronger, graced with more stamina. Each day we were greeted with a blessing from our fellow pilgrim who was unable to walk on his strained knee. Undaunted, it was such an inspiration to see him stand in prayer as we each passed by at the start of each day. Our hearts carried his spirit and that of the third of the wounded, the woman whose leg was broken, who met us with a glowing smile at various stops along the way. We left no one behind, even when their bodies could not participate. Under sometimes extremely trying conditions and a somewhat truncated peace gathering, the group sustained a wonderful microcosm of peace (our intention & focus) with so much caring, joy, compassion, understanding, and unconditional love.

Clearly we can affect those in our midst in profound ways, depending on our attitude about the events around us. Upon my return to the U.S., I could not return home due to an unusually early snowstorm & power outage. This kept me in the company of my friend Dina & her family for 3 days and when I was finally able to return home, my friend Kristin moved in for the week, until her power came back on. Both incidents were a blessing in disguise, that I was graced with much needed assistance as I adjust to doing without the use of my dominant hand. Similarly, I heard several stories of people helping each other out without a thought of inconvenience; opening their homes, sharing food and warmth, literally and figuratively.

Our journey here on earth is not always what we expect or hope for. I have a silly pair of heart-shaped sunglasses with rose-tinted lenses that remind me to choose a positive way to view my world…to find the blessing in every day, even in the most trying circumstance. Yes, sometimes I cry…God’s relief valve. Yet as the last of the tears are drying, a rainbow glows in my heart and I am grateful to be alive.

The greatest thing that came out of the trip and prior preparation was the idea of carrying peace within and the importance of cohesive community in any situation. May your walk in life continue to open you to the grace and blessings that are so plentiful. I send my love and hugs to you all! GROUP HUG! I arise each day through the strength of heaven…of which YOU are made…

“I arise each day through the strength of heaven:

Light of sun, radiance of moon,

Splendor of fire, speed of lightening,

Swiftness of wind, depth of sea,

Stability of earth, firmness of rock.”

--ADAPTED FROM EARLY IRISH SONG ATTRIBUTED TO SAINT PATRICK

Love and many Blessings,

Robin

Gifts of Nature

2011-08-15T14:57:00.000-07:00

Wherever I am at any given moment on this planet, I am always open to receiving the wisdom so freely given by nature.

My usual walk through the countryside, though accompanied by a constant drizzle of rain, was made more beautiful by opening my heart to the deeper levels of what lay before me.

Rain. How often do we disdain rather than be grateful for this sometimes elusive gift, especially when we live in an area that receives more than its share. While in San Antonio recently, I observed my host jumping from his seat to watch a passing 5 minute shower, hoping, praying that it would last long enough to end an almost year long drought. He spoke of the “rain lilies,” a flower that only appears after enough rain has fallen. None appeared the next morning and that neighborhood in Texas continued their vigil with heads turning toward the heavens with undaunted faith.

As I walked I thanked the rain for feeding the wildflowers, grasses, and trees that grace my yard; for filling my well so I can quench my thirst, enjoy a refreshing shower, wash my clothes, and fill buckets to keep my home clean; and finally for dowsing me with hope that keeps my heart and eyes forever scouting for rainbows.

And in spite of the rain, or more likely because of it, nature was bursting with messages. As I watched the creek water slipping over the rocks, she told me to keep dancing and singing as she does no matter what kind of news is circulating. She goes on, sometimes racing toward a destination, sometimes pooling to provide a cooling respite for frogs and fish. She eases her way over and around obstacles. All this she does while her bubbling song fills the air.

Trees. So many varieties reaching toward the light, reaching out to one another, sinking their toes deeper into the rich nourishment that supports them. One little walnut called to me as I looked right through a hole piercing her entire being near the base. There appeared to have been an ambitious woodpecker who left several attempts, then finally succeeded in drilling all the way to the other side! Though the little walnut had been invaded and used, she stood tall as every leaf-filled, green branch attested to her strength and fortitude.

On a walk through a well-known battlefield, a friend commented on an ancient sycamore. The first twenty feet or so were knarled, twisted, and knotted, while the upper portion grew gracefully with her branches reaching this way and that like a seasoned ballerina. My friend imagined that the knots and tumor-like knobs were from the trauma of witnessing war. But then as the tree matured, the war a distant memory, she recovered and moved on with a determined beauty. I thanked the trees for telling me to keep growing, have faith, and to steady myself by focusing on what’s truly important.

Flowers. Chicory is commonly a cornflower blue roadside flower. Known as a healthful stand-in for coffee, chicory like most plants possesses medicinal qualities. Aside from these facts, I viewed the chicory through the eyes of the heart and saw how he thrives in the harsh, pebbly, salt laden, conditions closest to the road. One little chicory flower stood out adorned in the purest white; more pure than one would expect from something constantly exposed to carbon monoxide and soot. These soldiers of the flower world practically shout, “I’m a survivor!” Together they folded up their individual petals as though to make sure their undersides were washed clean in the rain. Then, when I visited them awhile later, they had all unfurled themselves to try catching any fleeting rays of sunlight that might be pushing through the clouds. Again I offered my thanks for this subtle display of courage and the ability to flow with the rhythms of their surroundings.

May you be blessed by these gifts of nature and find many more of your own!

Return to Innocence

2011-02-05T18:53:00.000-08:00

Things are just settling down from a stressful afternoon of trouble shooting a computer virus…one that finally got me after a week of bogus emails coming in from every direction using the familiar names of my friends. Now I understand what it is about Free Hugs that tugs at my heart so strongly. It invites people, for a moment, to return to their innocence; something I feel that the virus mongers have forgotten.

Do you remember a time when you so sweetly wanted to hug everyone who passed your way? Your antennae had not yet developed to be on the lookout for anyone with malicious thoughts or motives. Perhaps, like my own early childhood, there was no one to be on the lookout for.

I grew up in small country towns on the fringes of Buffalo in Western New York. We moved often, yet from one town to the next, you could pretty much expect the same kind of atmosphere. Everyone in town knew who we were and what we were up to, yet no one ever thought of trying to upset the day by purposefully wreaking havoc in my Dad’s office and nobody ever heard of identity theft. It was a time when you could take your TV, radio, record player, or electric tools to a repairman and he would tell you, without charging you, if it was repairable or worth saving.

My mother, like many moms of that time, was perfectly comfortable allowing me to walk down the block to school, to a friend’s house, or the candy store by myself. Our only concerns about Halloween candy were rationing it out to avoid tummy aches, which kinds were our favorites to stash away, and which we would share with parents and friends.

The welcome mats of front and back doors were worn thin by neighbors and friends, who visited frequently and let themselves in after just a light knock and, “Hell-o-o.” Anybody home?” The postman, Mr. Hall, would sit to chat wherever anyone was offering a hot cup of coffee. We had a small angel carved in the woodwork of our front entry, by vagrant men who wanted those who would follow to know that this was a welcoming home. They were called “hobos” then and my mom always invited them in for a hearty meal and sent them off with a fresh shirt. My dad quite regularly picked up hitchhikers with no concern for their intention being anything but a ride to the place they needed to go.

Years later, my dad continued to live in small towns where he walked from the post office, to the general store, and the coffee shop calling everyone by their first name and they knew his as well. In the late nineties, just a few years before he passed away, I was visiting and marveled that the crime deemed to be the worst of the season made the headlines…a stolen jar of olives!

This is why I’ve often said I’m glad my dad chose to leave this world just short of a month before 911. He still had a good portion of his innocence in tact at the age of 72. What happened that September morning would have been too much for him to handle. And had he allowed me to get him a computer, he’d have probably thrown the darned thing in the trash at the first sign of someone tampering with his peace of mind.

The computer virus that happened today may be “just one of those things” that’s to be expected in this new millennium. As for this country girl, it is something I still don’t expect and will never get used to. Why would I want to get used to that? It may be naïve, yet they don’t call me Pollyanna for nothing; I’m glad I’ll be passing out Free Hugs this Valentine’s weekend. It is my hope that, whenever and wherever Free Hugs is happening around the world, at least some of the people at the receiving end will be the ones who have nothing better to do than to cause other people stress with their malevolent ideas and talents. I hope the hugs they receive opens their hearts just wide enough for a spark of LOVE to enter…innocence remembered. And from that spark, may a creative fire burn out of control…a fire that turns them toward using their brilliance and cunning for something that will change the world for the BETTER!

Enjoy the video (copy and paste link below)and please join us for Free Hugs Philly, Saturday, February 12^th, 2011 at 2:30pm at the LOVE sculpture, 16^th St. and JFK Blvd.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDGD4mLC04E

2011-01-08T12:07:00.000-08:00

The Condition of Being…A Snowflake

Snowflakes fall from the sky. Or is it rather like when I was a child and my mother told me that angels sifted powdered sugar from their places in the clouds? Either way, the journeyers travel long, carried on winds, eyelashes, and the occasional bird wing.

Snowflakes gracefully skate toward a wonder-scape; glistening in grandeur. Some hurry down, straight to the task of weaving a blanket for the Earth. Others sashay and pirouette, dancing this way and that. Their show becomes a lively playground for young and old! Still more flakes scurry, wander and float, until at last they settle alongside their companions. Though each is unique unto itself, they band together, uncomplaining, to carry out the chores of dressing trees in majestic robes and tucking in flowers for the season of night.

Gentle purveyors of silence; who can more than whisper in their presence? My ears care no more for piano or violin, than to hear crystalline “toes” touching down. My head tilts back as one brave flake sacrifices itself for my pleasure; the quick burst of icy electricity on my tongue.

Are these merely tiny, frozen objects? Or, are they our spirited help-mates, urging the joy of awe to melt and spring from our wintry hearts?

Book Signing and Storytelling!

2010-06-25T09:31:00.000-07:00

Please join me if you are in the area tomorrow for my first official book signing featuring "Feather Gifts"! I will be at Godfrey Daniel's, 7 East Fourth Street, Bethlehem, PA. starting at 1pm. Immediately following (2pm) is Songs and Stories with the Druckenmiller's where I will be telling "Grace," a story based on my real experiences. If there's time I will also share a short, short piece from the English translation of Kurt Kauter's "New Fables: Thus Spoke the Maribu."

Momentum

2010-05-26T10:26:00.000-07:00

Well, the wheels really got spinning during the Next Top Author contest. In as much as I did not make it to the second round, I am more determined than ever to get my work out there! "Feather Gifts" received wide accolades from the 4-84 crowd so I've made the decision to go to print, large publisher or not! I sold several books printed at home, have multitudes of orders and two upcoming events where I expect to sell many more. Hampton Roads Publishing has offered, very kindly, to look at book proposals from anyone who was in Round 1 even though we did not proceed to Round 2! Popular vote is NOT an indicator of the value and quality of a book. It simply shows that many of us are still learning how to network. I'm getting the hang of it!

So why am I writing this? Well, because I know that each one of us has come into being with gifts unique to us that are meant to be shared in the world. I believe that our hearts lead us to knowing what those gifts are. I believe that if you try one thing and it doesn't work, try again...and again with your heart in the lead. Know that your heart wouldn't fool you.

And please, please don't give up until your light is shining brightly. Let your heart fill with the heat of passion and fire for what it loves to do. It may be that you are an enlightened teacher or stunning book author. It may also be that you are the best joke teller who brings a spark of joy to an otherwise overly serious office setting. Or you may be raising the most balanced, happy kids anyone has ever seen. Do all with your heart and the world will benefit beyond your expectations or imaginings!

Many Blessings and continued joy!
Robin

Pennies...and Feathers From Heaven

2010-04-11T17:49:00.000-07:00

For a long time now, feathers have been placed on my path at significant times. So significant that I can only take them as signs that I'm being listened to and watched over by a greater force. Though feathers continue to show up, somewhat less frequently, this past week they've been replaced by pennies.

After the loss of a dear older friend, my friend Kathy shared a special story with me. She said that before his passing, her friend consoled her by saying that she shouldn't worry because he'd be sending her pennies from heaven. A few days after he passed, she started finding pennies everywhere! Just a few months later, as she told me the story, she had accumulated several dollars worth of change. Her friend had kept his promise.

Last week she lost her fifth loved one in less than a year. My heart so went out to her, yet I quickly became preoccupied with my own worries and concerns. Within a few days I suddenly I found myself picking up pennies where ever I went. I thought nothing of it and didn't make the connection until I was at the sale shelf at the library and found a CD entitled "Pennies From Heaven". There was that voice from "beyond". A loved one? That Greater Force? All saying, "Don't worry, here's some pennies from heaven."

I'm sending the pennies and CD to my friend. My current worries dissolve as I remember what it felt like to lose three beloved grandparents in less than a year when I was 6. Nothing but nothing is more important than our connection to loved ones. And to that high power of Love that tells us it is so.

Blessings to you and to all those you love!
Robin

Flow

2010-04-02T17:32:00.000-07:00

There is a natural flow that happens in our world, in our universe. I can't explain it but I'm feeling it now and it has to do with giving and receiving. I've been supercharged with enthusiasm for this author contest and the energy is infectious! As I knock on doors, so to speak, setting up speaking engagements, giving away bookmarks, and hanging up flyers, all in the name of trying to get votes, I am amazed and surprised to find that I am also giving something. Although I am seeking votes, I am also giving free advertising and hopefully getting more customers for the establishments I will speak at. Several recipients of the bookmarks, although they are my advertising "gimmick", are saying "thanks" as though I'm giving them some wonderful gift! And most importantly, I think, is that I'm getting people to realize how much fun it can be to follow a dream and maybe even inspiring something long dormant to sprout within them. It doesn't get better than this!

I'm looking forward to the day I can follow through on my promise to some eight year-olds on the Jemez Pueblo Native American reservation. When they saw my "Feather Gifts" prototype book they asked if I'd send them one. I said "yes"!

Your vote in the Next Top Spiritual Author contest will help me reach my goal of keeping that promise! Go to www.nexttopspiritualauthor.com
Look for the voter registration on the far right. After you register and confirm your email, come back to the site and type 725 in the ID# bar or "Berry" in the "author last name" bar. Explore my page, watch the video and if you like what you see, vote for me!

My Native American friends have said that everything is a circle. Energy is a circle. You give some, some comes back. I'm certain that the flow will come back to you in some form!

Thanks for your vote and many blessings!
Robin

Dream A Little Dream With Me!

2010-03-22T14:26:00.000-07:00

What is your dream? What is it that brings you so much joy that you can’t wait to get up in the morning and causes you to stay up too late to keep working on it? What makes your heart sing? What would you go to the ends of the earth to keep doing no matter who tells you it’s ridiculous or a silly, foolish waste of time? For me it’s writing.

I created my first book in third grade. That first taste was all I needed to set me on the road in search of the “Holy Grail” – how to break into the mysterious world of publishing. With numerous files of short stories, manuscripts, poems, and articles to my credit, it feels like my search is nearing a conclusion; the grail less mysterious and within reach. My book, Feather Gifts for all ages, is now entered in “The Next Top Spiritual Author”, a competition that has unexpectedly drawn over 2000 contestants world-wide.

Writing is my meditation and gift to the world, something I feel I came into this world to do. My passion was only strengthened when a high school guidance counselor tried to discourage me from my dream of being published, toward something he called “more substantial.” Fancying myself as a female version of “John Boy” from the long-running series The Walton’s, I persisted and the Universe, God if you will, carried me...

For many years I gave my written works away as gifts while studying whatever I could about how to be a really good writer. I self-published a newsletter for four years, submitted a few things to newspapers and magazines, and did manage to get some small pieces published. Then fifteen years ago, I began telling stories to children as a promotion at a Native American arts store where I worked in Madison, NJ.

I was out walking, wondering what to do for the story hour, when I found myself experiencing nature in a different way. I attribute this change to my exposure to Native American beliefs that everything has a living spirit, a prevailing theme in Feather Gifts and other manuscripts.

During the store promotion, I started telling my own stories out of respect for Native traditions that their tales are told only by Native people. I received invitations to tell at outdoor education centers, community centers, churches, scouting events, and schools. In my spare time, I sketched feathers and the idea to write Feather Gifts was born.

Years later, I was encouraged when a series of events led me to Ardath Rodale, late owner of Rodale Press, Chief Inspiration Officer of Prevention Magazine, and founder of Hillside School in Allentown, PA. Mrs. Rodale loved the book and by the time of her passing had purchased 30 copies printed on my home computer. I now wonder what may have happened if the relationship with Mrs. Rodale had continued.

I sold several more home printed copies here and there and was ready to print professionally when I discovered that the program I had used for layout was too old to transfer to modern equipment. Undaunted, I hired a graphic artist to re-create the book. Entering the contest seemed like the next natural step when I received an email from James Twyman, author and founder of the competition, who promised ongoing support, education, and exposure for the duration of the competition.

What’s most important to me is that my work will inspire you and bring you closer to loved ones and our earth to experience more joy, beauty, and fulfillment. My goal is to also send books to Native and other under-funded schools.

Round One of the competition (four rounds total) is largely dependent on popular vote between March 30 and May 3, 2010. PLEASE BECOME A PART OF THIS INTERNATIONAL EVENT BY SUPPORTING ME WITH YOUR VOTES!

And please, whatever it is, awaken your dreams and follow your heart. It may sound cliché, but it’s never, ever too late!

Many Blessings and Dreams,
Robin

Coming Soon!

2010-03-17T20:27:00.000-07:00

The days are flitting by as I and about 2000 talented authors prepare to launch our audio and video pitch to become the Next Top Spiritual Author! Right now all I can reveal is that soon you will be invited to register to vote on the Next Top Spiritual Author website. On or before March 29th I will post specific information about their site and my personal author ID and URL so you can cast your vote for my book "Feather Gifts"! Stay tuned! Voting begins March 30th!

Meanwhile I'd like to share a recent experience that feels somehow related to all this excitement!

I was in yoga class with my mat situated so I could look out the window as I moved through my salutes to the sun. Across the street, on a high chimney, sat a single blackbird. My practice turned into a communication of sorts with the small bird.

In our daily readings and chants we have been focusing on Lakshmi, the goddess of abundance. As I stared at the tiny creature on the chimney, I felt a certain melding with Lakshmi and the bird itself, who for the sake of this post I will call "She-bird". She-bird sat there against a robin's egg blue sky, with no choice but to let her dark feathers drink in the warm sun that beamed down on her. It was just there for the taking. She-bird turned her head this way and that, surveying her immediate territory of asphalt and brick, then beyond to the treetops that were visible in every direction. I imagine her gaze found the nearby Delaware River and distant mountains with no thought of lack or concern for what to eat or where to go next. She-bird innately practiced, from birth, what I've worked for years to re-learn...the essence of "being". She-bird stayed with me, perched on that chimney, until just before "shivasana" the ending pose of yoga. I turned away for an instant and when I looked back she had flown into her bountiful world, but her message remains.

My yoga teacher then read a quote about Lakshmi. "She is one whose object and aim is to uplift humankind." Without knowing it, She-bird did that for me. She reminded me that during this contest and in life, there is nothing to do but to drink in all that is laid before me with joy and gratitude. There is no need to be concerned about what to do next, but to simply follow the natural rhythms. I can look beyond my immediate surrounding to the boundless hills and endless sky...Abundance!

In the spirit of She-bird, may these words uplift and carry you into your day where ever you are.

With Gratitude,
Robin

Rainy Day Monday, but the Sun Shines Here!

2010-03-15T19:22:00.000-07:00

Wow! Is it Monday again? This has been such a full week, so much to do to get ready for the "Next Top Spiritual Author" contest! Ideas are flowing and I'm learning so much! Some moments feel like a luxurious free-fall while others feel like I've jumped off a cliff! Oh, but either way the landscape is breathtaking!

Someone once told me, "Courage is being afraid and doing it anyway." Is there some dream that half thrills, half scares you? Do you get a heady rush just thinking about that dream; not sure if life is daring you or pulling you back into your shell? I invite you...NO! I DARE you to stick your neck out. Take a long look around and if you feel like diving back under cover, put one foot in front of the other and keep going! Never look back.

A dream is just a dream until YOU make it reality! Come on...I know you can do it!

Love,
Robin

Flying

2010-03-08T14:18:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since I've checked in. My head and heart are spinning with possibility and hope! I've been out making dreams come true and living life in ways I never expected!

After too many years contemplation, I finally flew into a longtime dream of becoming an ordained interfaith minister! After some amazing synchronicity, I'm now happily married to a wonderful soulmate! A life-long dream and labor of love, my children's book, Feather Gifts is finally ready for print and I'm entering it in "The Next Top Spiritual Author" contest!

Feather Gifts will guide you to a new way of viewing nature that will bring your family together to explore and discover the hidden treasures that lay just beyond your door. The journey begins with just one feather! By March 29th, you will find information on how to vote in the first elimination round that will send Feather Gifts to round two of the contest. Please visit my website http://www.robinheartstories.com/ for voting info and more!

Meanwhile, you are invited to continue visiting me here for stories and updates. I hope you've been soaring and freeing the magic!

Many Blessings,
Robin

Birth Days

2009-04-18T12:02:00.000-07:00

I’ve had at least a hundred birthdays since that first early May 14. No, I’m not one hundred years old yet, but my birthdays have changed and become something different from what they once were.

My mother always said I was so thoughtful to wait until eight fifty-five a.m., giving my Dad enough time that Saturday to have some breakfast before returning to continue wearing a path in the linoleum floor of the waiting room. Those were the days before dads were allowed into the delivery room. The nurses had barely finished giving me my first bath, when I earned the title of “apple-cheeks” and “pork-chop”, due to my plump red cheeks and rather noisy appreciation of baby formula. Years later my face would glow in the same apple-red shades, when my mother giggled while sharing my prior nicknames with one or more of my teenaged friends!

As a child, weeks before my birthday, I’d sit down and write out party invitations to my little friends. When the day arrived, eight or so girls all dressed in their best dresses with crinolines underneath, would file into our house. Each one carried brightly wrapped gifts in all shapes and sizes and my eyes bulged as I wondered what treasures might be hidden inside them. We played games like, Pin the Tail on the Donkey, Pins in a bottle, and had scavenger hunts. There were the usual birthday cakes, balloons, candles, and not-so-usual absence of ice cream. My mother believed that canned fruit embalmed in sugary syrup, then embedded in Jello was a healthier choice than ice cream – another cause for my apple-red cheeks to return when I saw the looks on the faces of my half-dozen or so disappointed friends. Each year I would beg to have ice cream and each year my mother would insist that fruited Jello was the next best thing to a fresh picked apple.

Not long before my twelfth birthday, I fell under the spell of peer pressure and was compelled to give up asking for dolls as birthday gifts. When one by one I put the many dolls already in my possession up on high shelves and hid them in closets, I secretly felt I was betraying some of my best friends. I could barely look into their blue glass eyes without my own eyes tearing up.

After the last of the dolls was safely tucked away I told my mother I wanted to invite boys as well as girls to my birthday party. On the school bus, my girlfriends and I plotted how we would instigate a game of Spin-the-Bottle. Somehow word got out and it seemed the boys looked forward to it as much as the girls. I invited Bill, one of my first pre-teenage crushes.

Bill had a big inviting smile and was my height, a plus for a shy girl who was often taunted with nicknames like “Jolly Green Giant” or “Tree”. A girl who had not yet learned to appreciate what it means to be “looked up to”. Bill had a medium blond brush cut and I remember he wore a green plaid shirt that set off his blue eyes. Somehow the sparkle in those blue eyes suddenly seemed a bit more enticing than looking into the eyes of my dolls.

My twelfth May 14th finally came and for the first time I shared cake and fruity Jello with the small crowd of girls and boys. When it was my turn to spin the bottle I made my birthday wish, and hope of all hopes, my wish was granted. The bottle pointed toward Bill! When our soft young lips met I thought there would never be a birthday so sweet as that one.

Once I was grown, the date of May 14 still held an air of celebration, although usually without all the fanfare. I had accompanied many of my friends on their twenty-first birthdays as they proudly showed their I.D. and purchased their first six-packs of beer and quart bottles of Boone’s Farm. In case you’ve never heard of it, Boone’s Farm was the fruited Jello of wines back then. And cheap enough that those making minimum wage could afford it. When my day finally rolled around I went to the store by myself. I walked down the chilly isle until I found just the right thing to christen my coming of age…a whole half-gallon of mint chocolate-chip ice cream! Jello no more! Crossing over the threshold into the infinite wisdom of adulthood, I knew that traditional birthday “food”, while maybe not so good for the body, is essential nourishment for the soul. Now that was a birth day!

As soon as possible, not long after my official birthing into adulthood, I broke the barbaric, peer-driven spell of my childhood. It was September. I was twenty-six, newly married, and stood in the midst of the cardboard boxes I’d carried with me into my new home. I picked through those boxes looking for long buried treasure. Finally I found the one marked “dolls”. I gave each long, lost friend a hug, as I pulled him or her one by one from their hiding place. Ceremoniously, I bathed each one and gave them all fresh new clothes and hair-dos. They were officially dubbed my doll “collection”. Their pink painted smiles gleamed and I swore I saw one or two of those blue glass eyes wink at me. That was a birth day!

After a few dozen May 14ths had passed, my soul longed for that air of celebration to permeate my life, to stay with me for more than just one day a year. What was it that made that one day on the calendar so special? Yes, it was fun to have others celebrate the event of my birth with special festivities. But I wanted to capture that same special feeling so that it lingered long after the birthday candles had been blown out and the friends had gone home.

One August, during the period when my marriage was dissolving and I had no idea what my future held, I kneeled on the couch staring out into the chaos of a gushing rainstorm. My mood inside matched the chaos of the storm outside. Suddenly I was flooded with the inspiration to do something I’d never allowed myself to do before. I kicked off my shoes, ran out, and launched myself feet first into a large puddle that was forming in the yard. I tilted my head back to let the drops pour over me. I jumped up and down, laughing and splashing in that puddle as the stormy mood dissolved into that puddle. That was a birth day!

Early on another September morning I decided to take a drive to the ocean shore. As I walked solo to my car, the fall chill reminded me of my recent breakup. The sun peeked through the clouds now and then along the way and by the time I arrived at Bradley Beach it was a balmy sixty-eight degrees. I padded through the warm sand, dipping my feet in the surf and mindlessly scanning for shells and other gifts from the sea. I felt the power of the ocean inside of me, rising, swelling, full, and ever changing. Then I was like the sand being endlessly washed over and marveling at what was uncovered or let go of with each wave of tears. The breeze brushed and tousled my hair, kissed my cheeks, and brought the taste of salt to my lips. For a glorious three hours I left footprints in the sand to be sent back to sea in the rolling waves. The most precious treasure I unearthed that day was a deep sense of being present, being really there without my head swimming in worrisome thoughts of the past or the future and I found a deeper connection to some unnamable, invisible companion, who I realized was always with me. Even though my official birth date was in May and this was September, I was fully in the experience of another birth day.

The following year, I was immersed in a training that involved digging around inside myself to find more of the inner gifts that no May 14th, up to that point, had revealed. It was March and I arrived at the training center in Canada to find Lake Simcoe solidly frozen. On the second day I could see from the main conference room, that a crack had opened up across the smooth surface of the ice-covered lake. As each of the eight days passed and the temperature rose, more cracks appeared and opened the lake to the sun's warmth, mirroring the way that I and my classmates were cracking open to the long-hidden aspects of our true selves. On the last unusually warm day, I knelt by the lakeshore in the sunshine, holding my hands in the water...a baptism of sorts for a heart that was continuously rebirthing itself. As the ripples calmed and the water returned to stillness, I leaned over and saw my reflection, backed by a clear blue sky, there in the completely thawed lake. That was a birth day!

Thanks to all who have celebrated May 14ths and my other birth days with me. I wish everyone I know, and everyone I will never meet, many, many birth days!