Red Thread Nation

Years ago when I first thought of the red thread, and I googled it, there was nothing there but a small reference from the Chinese tradition which states that those who are supposed to meet are connected by an invisible red thread since before birth.

It was given to me in prayer, on the way to a Native American women’s circle being held up a Lake Isabella, as well as at the Delores Huerta Foundation. I was working with Native American Elder Tonantzin Guerra Rennick, who found me through my coloring book and journal, Color of Woman.

After filling hers to the brim, Tonantzin asked the Tribal Taniff for the Bakersfield area to work with me to so that I could come and bring creative journaling to the women. On the way there, I prayed to Our Lady to show me how to identity myself as ‘being of love’, right away, so as the create trust among the women, so we could get to work. The circles were to last but a few short hours, and to make headway into creative journaling and the practice of it I would need to move swiftly into deep territory. Plus I was nervous.

Striking A Holy Balance

Our Lady of Light

shine your brightness this way

illumine us towards loving kindness

give us the peace and courage to continue

when our challenges seem too many

the sensitive ones, who feel the cries of the world

in their bones

feel sick with worry and with wonder

ask the ancient grandmothers to wrap

their shawls about the bony shoulders of our despair

we want to dance and sing and give thanks

and we do. we feel the Saints dancing with us.

but the weight of suffering presses us,

how can we even do the laundry in peace?

or eat steak and potatoes in bliss

when we know the price? as well as all

the stories. how can it be?

A Letter To Grandma – Dia De Las Muertos

Letting you and Grandma Eden go, is so far, the hardest thing in my life. Since I go to the Orthodox Church now, I finally understand how you got how you were. The sacredness, and the expansiveness. How I wish I had asked you more questions. When I am in church, I feel I am with you – and my family. I feel my roots and I have a sense of understanding about the nature of my own soul as it relates to my blood line. Who knew I would find mother church, after you left. How I wish I could take you to Vespers tonight, I think how happy you would be – even though you left and went to the Protestant Church, I know your heart remained with the church “back home” in Lopez, Pensylvannia – where the church Grandfather Dimitri helped to build, still stands, 100 years later. The icon that was in your room when you died, is mine now and sits on one of my many altars.

Photo 77
Grandma’s Icon

There is also a flower in the book – dried and preserved though I cannot tell what kind. And it is inscribed from your mother, to you and grandpa and dad and uncle. That I get to see Grandmother Mary’s handwriting and know she touched the page, feels a blessing. I believe in particles – in essences – in momentary flahses of light and consciousness that link us to the past – and the present.
Letting you and Grandma Eden go, is so far, the hardest thing in my life. Since I go to the Orthodox Church now, I finally understand how you got how you were. The sacredness, and the expansiveness. How I wish I had asked you more questions. When I am in church, I feel I am with you – and my family. I feel my roots and I have a sense of understanding about the nature of my own soul as it relates to my blood line. Who knew I would find mother church, after you left. How I wish I could take you to Vespers tonight, I think how happy you would be – even though you left and went to the Protestant Church, I know your heart remained with the church “back home” in Lopez, Pensylvannia – where the church Grandfather Dimitri helped to build, still stands, 100 years later. The icon that was in your room when you died, is mine now and sits on one of my many altars.

Photo 77
Grandma’s Icon

There is also a flower in the book – dried and preserved though I cannot tell what kind. And it is inscribed from your mother, to you and grandpa and dad and uncle. That I get to see Grandmother Mary’s handwriting and know she touched the page, feels a blessing. I believe in particles – in essences – in momentary flahses of light and consciousness that link us to the past – and the present.

Letting you and Grandma Eden go, is so far, the hardest thing in my life. Since I go to the Orthodox Church now, I finally understand how you got how you were. The sacredness, and the expansiveness. How I wish I had asked you more questions. When I am in church, I feel I am with you – and my family. I feel my roots and I have a sense of understanding about the nature of my own soul as it relates to my blood line. Who knew I would find mother church, after you left. How I wish I could take you to Vespers tonight, I think how happy you would be – even though you left and went to the Protestant Church, I know your heart remained with the church “back home” in Lopez, Pensylvannia – where the church Grandfather Dimitri helped to build, still stands, 100 years later. The icon that was in your room when you died, is mine now and sits on one of my many altars.