Reservation Creation

“Your life is a work of art,” the answering machine of a professional artist friend reminds me when I call. Navajo rug weavers know this. They literally live it with every fiber of their being. On my return from California this week, I attended the Crownpoint Navajo Rug Auction on their reservation in the northwest corner of New Mexico. The day trip was offered through Oasis, which provides continuing education opportunities for adults over fifty throughout the United States.

I boarded the tour bus with thirty other people in cold, winter rain for the two-hour ride. The group leader explained how the auction would work, passed around a rug he previously purchased and explained the most desirable qualities of a hand-woven rug: tight weave, smooth surface, the same symmetrical design on both sides, straight edges, sharp corners within the design and creativity. He then showed a DVD about the Navajo culture and weaving.

Navajo women weavers literally weave elements of their lives into their rugs. Originally nomadic raiders, the Navajo, or Diné (“the people”) as they call themselves, became sheep raisers, grazers and herders in daily life. Wool sheared from their sheep is washed, carded, spun, in some cases dyed, and woven into rugs. Natural grey, white, tan, brown or black wool is commonly used. Rugs colored with vegetal, or plant-based, dyes are usually considered more valuable than those made with commercial, or aniline, dyes.

The Navajo Reservation, largest in the United States at nearly fifteen thousand square miles, can be divided into thirteen weaving regions, each producing a characteristic rug with a distinctive style, pattern and color. For example, black, white, grey and brown geometrically-designed rugs are woven in the Two Grey Hills area. Known for their fine quality and high thread count per inch, a piece twenty by thirty-two inches can be on the loom for fourteen months after forty-five days are spent preparing the wool before weaving begins. Patterns and designs are rarely diagrammed, and even the youngest weaver is taught to plan her designs and colors in her head – to visualize the complete product. Symbols for "falling rain," "rain far-off," "mountain," "turkey track," woven into the rugs connect their creations with their lives, to their land. It can be said the meditative nature of weaving grounds them and contributes to their peaceful nature. The Crownpoint Weavers website, www.crownpointrugauction.com, explains that Navajo weaving is constantly changing: “Frequently we see a swing away from the old ‘regional’ design concept. Serious weavers are doing their own thing. They don’t want to be bound by tradition and are creating new and marvelous designs. Vegetal weavers are working with colors. Pictorial weavers are creating new landscapes and whimsical settings.” Each handmade rug is unique, literally one of a kind.

Auctions are held the second Friday of every month. Rugs are available for inspection before the auction begins. Navajo women weavers of all ages line the back and side walls of the Crownpoint Elementary School gymnasium as potential buyers swarm around the rugs piled on cafeteria-style tables. The Crownpoint Rug Auction gives buyers the unique opportunity to purchase Navajo rugs directly from the weavers themselves, at prices well below retail. For a small weaving the size of a placemat, bidding will start at $30 - $50, and it will sell for $80 - $100. Room-sized rugs can sell for as much as $1900 – $2200 or more. The night I attended, most rugs sold in the $300 - $500 range. A Navajo blanket sold at auction by Sotheby’s in New York for more than $100,000 in 1983 and a chief’s blanket in 1997 for $350,000.

Election Day dictated that I return from my California trip three days before the rug auction, by Tuesday, November 6^th, so I could vote in person. Reflecting on both events, I see parallels between Navajo rug weavers, Americans collectively as a nation and each of us individually. For each, our lives are a work of art. We weave our own creations from the elements in our lives. Changing demographics in our country required embracing a diverse national coalition to create the next administration. Regardless of how we voted individually, collectively we have chosen a vision for moving our country forward. Our dream for our country and ourselves embraces all demographics, including youth, women, Hispanics, African-Americans, white males, blue-collar workers. Collectively we have chosen to move forward into the unknown, releasing what no longer works, letting go of our fears.

Individually, we accept our wholeness, all the diverse aspects of ourselves represented by those demographics. Outer form represents the consciousness within. What part of you is a dreamer seeking education? What aspect of you longs for freedom beyond borders, unlimited opportunity for self-expression? How is self-determination part of your heart’s desires? How will our individual lives reflect sustainable green energy that respects the Earth, improved healthcare? What part of our own infrastructure needs and awaits repair? How will we create inner energy independence? Adjust to climate change in our lives within? What must we do to balance our own budget – not just financially, but energetically, qualitatively? How do we move our life vision forward, create our grand design?

The past is gone. Collectively we’ve committed to the new, to inclusion, to diversity, to working together, to honoring our oneness, to realizing, or making real, our wholeness. What will that look like individually and collectively? We don’t know yet. We’ll create it. Our life is a work of art. We’ve taken the first step by saying we’re committed to it.

Crystal Skulls

Crystal skulls, AKA “The Mysterious Crystal Skulls,” (oooooo…..), how could I resist a FREE lecture about them at the Albuquerque Museum of Natural History and Science by Benjamin Radford, investigator for the Skeptical Inquirer, a bimonthly magazine published for “science and reason” by the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry (CSI)? Especially at Halloween. Timely! Now there’s a man who knows marketing. Radford’s new book, Mysterious New Mexico: Miracles, Magic, Monsters in the Land of Enchantment, with one entire chapter dedicated exclusively to crystal skulls, will be published by University of New Mexico Press next year. I had to go. Even if it took time away from my online completion of 45 units of continuing education to renew my California real estate license, or perhaps, especially if it took time away from . . .

Claims have been made that crystal skulls, pre-Columbian artifacts from Aztec or Maya civilizations, exhibit paranormal phenomena. Reportedly used to cast spells, see the future, will death or heal, they are often accompanied by an elusive perfume, tinkling sounds, changing colors, auras. There’s one in the British Museum (fact). However, none of the specimens made available for scientific study has been authenticated as pre-Columbian in origin. Investigations carried out on several skulls at the British Museum show that the indented lines marking the teeth were carved using jeweler’s equipment developed in the 19^th century. The type of crystal used was exclusive to Madagascar and Brazil, not obtainable, or known, in pre-Columbian Mesoamerica. The study concluded they were made in 19^th century Germany from Brazilian quartz. A detailed study of skulls in the British Museum and the Smithsonian was accepted for publication by the Journal of Archaeological Science in May 2008. Researchers concluded the skulls were made in the 1950s or later. None of the skulls in museums comes from documented excavations.

Crystal skulls have become very popular, appearing in sci-fi television series, video games, books, and in Stephen Spielberg’s 2008 movie, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. The completion of the Maya calendar cycle on December 21, 2012, ties in with the legend that the re-uniting of thirteen mystical, crystal skulls will forestall a catastrophe predicted by the ending of the calendar. In Serpent of Light, author Drunvalo Melchizedek writes that he “came across indigenous Mayan descendents in possession of crystal skulls at ceremonies at temples in the Yucatan which. . . contain souls of ancient Mayans who had entered the skulls to await the time when their ancient knowledge would once again be required.”  Timely!

Dan Akroyd, actor, musician and entrepreneurial purveyor of spirits, sells his Crystal Head Vodka in clear-glass, skull-shaped bottles, with the bottle neck and cap on top of the head (adding a look of authenticity), at $39.95 and up. . . and, skull-tini glasses (set of two) for $30. . . and, Limited Edition skull cufflinks (buy now!) in rhodium for $79. . . and, in sterling silver for $149. . . . and. . . He’s really got the marketing down. The vodka is “pure spirit” made with pristine, deep-glacial-aquifer water of Newfoundland, Canada – quadruple distilled! Free of additives, it is triple-filtered, then triple-filtered again (really) through Herkimer diamonds (I couldn’t make this stuff up!) making it as ‘PURE’ as Vodka can be. According to his website, Akroyd is a Spiritualist, a believer in what he calls the "invisible world" where otherworldly presences are a "form of reality as valid as our normal reality." For a fun time, visit www.crystalheadvodka.com. Radford autographed a bottle of Crystal Head Vodka, brought in by a fan, at the end of his presentation. Photos were taken.

In New Age Sedona, Radford states, crystal skulls have become a cottage industry. People pay $100, or more, per hour, to be in the same room with crystal skulls and meditate. For more fun, visit www.crystalskulls.com, the epitome of cottage industry – ancient, old, contemporary, activated, or Mayan crystal skulls are available. There are links to crystal skull theory, history, research, news and events. You can even “Get your own Indie crystal skull (exclusive offer),” or own a “real crystal skull activated by the rare Tibetan crystal skull." Googling “crystal skulls” reveals more exotic fare: crystal skull essences, jewelry, wands, advisor pendulums, and an adoption sale (yes!). All manner of skull crystals, with balancing, cleansing, healing properties, are available, from tourmaline to zebra jasper, tiger eye to sugilite, moonstone to moldavite, small, medium, large or bestselling, blessed by Atlantean, Peruvian, or Star-being aliens “from space” to “bring money,” “make dreams vivid,” “support empaths,” “avoid over-thinking,” so you “enjoy life in the now.”

One of the most notable crystal skulls, the “Skull of Doom,” or Mitchell-Hedges skull, was reportedly discovered by Anna Le Guillon Mitchell-Hedges, step-daughter of a British adventurer, who claimed she found the skull beneath a collapsed altar in a temple in Belize. Others present at the time have not confirmed the skull’s discovery. Nor have they confirmed Anna’s presence at the dig. According to her, she was told, by the few remaining Mayans, that “the skull was used by the high priest to will death.” She said her skull could “cause visions and cure cancer,” that she saw in it a premonition of John F. Kennedy’s assassination and used it to kill a man. Anna toured with her skull on a pay-per-view basis until her death in 2007, when she was in her nineties.

The closest the Spiritual Adventuress can come this week to connecting spiritual principles with crystal skulls is imbibing spirits from them. Happy Halloween!

Piedras Marcadas

Discovery, learning, (ad)venturing forth into the unknown – Piedras Marcadas Canyon offers all that. Wonderment. “Marked Rocks” Canyon is part of the Petroglyph National Monument on the west side of Albuquerque. Six volcanoes erupted along the Rio Grande Rift Valley about 150,000 years ago, flowing lava toward the east. It eroded into an escarpment, or long cliff with a steep slope, of basalt rock. More than 20,000 rock carvings can be found along this seventeen-mile-long ridge. Some of the symbols are recognizable – hand or foot prints, bees, dragonflies, lizards, but many remain cloaked in mystery. For indigenous Pueblo people, the entire landscape is sacred. Traditional ceremonies still take place within the monument.

The “Walking Albuquerque” class did two-miles of just that this week in Piedras Marcadas Canyon. The experience left me feeling a bit unsettled. Signs at the monument entrance juxtaposed ancient and modern ideas. A quote from a Native American said, “…the rocks are alive - they carry messages from the ancestors,” while a notice from monument staff informed us, “…cell phones can be used for a park ranger audio tour.” Those at each end of the time spectrum would be amazed by the world of the other. It felt somewhat disorienting to have a foot in each world. A cement-block retaining wall separated the back yards of new Pueblo-style tract homes from ancestral Puebloan ceremony sites. A short walk up the trail, modern civilization is left behind, only desert wilderness remains. On my own, I would never have stumbled across the small public parking lot, for the piedras marcadas, hidden in the middle of a residential neighborhood.

The husband-and-wife hike leaders, high-tech equipped with portable microphone headsets, warned us not to molest the rattlesnakes then explained that “desert varnish,” or the dark outer layer of weathered volcanic rock, was pecked away with a rock chisel to create the petroglyphs by revealing the natural, light-gray basalt rock beneath. On smooth rocks nearby, ceremonial food offerings were ground. Prayers were said. After the class ended, I continued walking by myself for an hour, spending time in the timeless. I’m haunted by the ancient/modern juxtapositions I felt as I walked on the land.

According to the Petroglyph National Monument website, Pueblo people today believe when their ancestors died, their spirits would travel from villages along the river up to the volcanic escarpment, “The Place That People Speak About.” There, the spirits of their ancestors would leave this world through the rock images and go to the next. They believe the images are as “old as time” and that the images choose when and to whom they reveal themselves.

Perhaps, while walking, I sensed energetically what I just read online in a 1990 L.A. Times article. Headline: “Petroglyph monument faces a rocky future. The ancient Indian drawings are threatened by Albuquerque's growth, trash dumpers and vandals.” The article described the nation’s newest national monument at the time as a vast gallery of sacred images. Ike Eastvold, President of the Friends of the Albuquerque Petroglyphs, stated, "It is still an outdoor church to the Pueblo people. This is still a spiritually active landscape." According to Eastvold, who inventoried the symbols for a state research project, a few of the monument's petroglyphs are 3,000 to 5,000 years old, some are from the Spanish colonial era, but most date from 1320 to 1680.

Since the city of Albuquerque is bounded by mountains on the east and Indian pueblo lands on both the north and south, future development has long been earmarked for the west mesa, where the petroglyphs are located. Although economic conditions and a building moratorium diminished the threat of development for a while, Eastvold explained the petroglyphs could still be vulnerable to deliberate destruction. He showed members of a Smithsonian Institution tour group where contractors had dumped hundreds of tons of construction debris while building neighboring subdivisions and pointed out bullet-pocked rock surfaces where marksmen had used petroglyphs for target practice. I’m wondering if my inexplicable feelings are from encountering the intensity of such starkly contrasting pairs of opposites reflected by the history of the  site: protection/destruction, ancient/modern, developed/undeveloped, respected/disrespected. . . all the contradictions we embody both individually and collectively as those who are human and divine. It's a familiar discomfort that parallels living in this country and this world at this time. The spiritual practice is to know the pairs of opposites are just two sides of one Earth rotating on its axis toward or away from the light.

You Could Have Come No Other Way

“While nothing could prepare me for my son’s life-threatening experience, everything in my life prepared me for my son’s life-threatening experience,” I wrote recently in the manuscript of A Caregiver’s Journey: Supporting an Adult Child with Cancer. I then explained that two real estate clients of mine and a car accident impacted my life in ways that altered my interaction with my son. One client introduced me to metaphysical thinking and set me on the path of spiritual development I still follow. Another client and I shared her journey with cancer before Grant was diagnosed. The car accident I was in occurred before he was born. In writing about these things, I have been able to see my life as a tapestry in which all the seemingly-separate, colored threads are woven into a perfect design. Some of the threads only revealed their part of the design after more than thirty years.

“You could have come no other way,” one of my spiritual mentors, Edwene Gaines, likes to remind others. Everything that has happened to us has made us who we are now. It is a wonderful way to re-frame or re-vision what we consider those not-so-wonderful events in our lives, to view them from a larger perspective which reveals the purpose they serve, the good they contain. Over thirty years ago, I certainly didn’t appreciate our car being rear-ended by a school bus at a red light, having my forehead split open, then lying flat on my back for nine days with a concussion. But when the inch-long scar on my forehead from the accident disappeared due to a friend’s prayer, and it helped heal my son of cancer, I saw the accident as part of a greater picture, a divine order. It’s like examining the brush strokes and details of a gallery painting up close, then stepping back and viewing it from a distance. How satisfying to accept the perfection of divine order now without having to wait for hindsight to reveal it.

Divine order is revealing itself to me more and more quickly now that I believe in it. I recently hung three abstract, contemporary paintings by a dear friend, Johnny Garcia, in my new home. They are channeled paintings from the Divine Mothers, or feminine aspects of God, embodying healing colors and energies. Since Johnny is out of the country, I have been storing his work. With his permission, I am enjoying his art. Out of fifteen paintings, the three I selected are revealing their purpose. In the entry hall is “Gratitude,” resembling green, organic bamboo on a golden background. Within the past week, my meditation CD repeatedly skipped from track one to track four. Accepting that this is happening for a reason, I have been starting there – with a “gratitude” meditation based on chanting the word “om.” Start with the end in mind. It is done. Thank you. The book is already written and a success. All I have to do is get it down on paper.

"Service,” is hung in the dining area off the kitchen where I write at the table, being of service by sharing the light through writing. Last week’s blog entry described Meher Baba’s comparison of selfless service to the sun which shines on everything, unaffected by results. “Service” brings the yellows of the sun to my dining area. It feeds my soul. The pink shades of “Peace," hanging in my bedroom, bring loving, restful sleep to my nights. I didn’t really think of the titles, colors or symbolism when I chose which paintings to hang or where to hang them. I just picked my favorites and put them up. They are revealing their significance in my life and home at this time. With each experience I have, my faith and trust are deepened. I increasingly experience the interconnectedness, or oneness, of everything. Is there something in your life right now that you consider “not-so-wonderful” that might be divine order in disguise? How might it be serving you?

King of Its Kind

"News from Afar" continues to arrive, as foretold by the fortunteller's card - not only “Happy Birthday” calls from Washington, Massachusetts and California, but also news from further afar - a singing telegram from the universe in the keres language sung by two members of the Zia Pueblo dressed in full regalia. Along with birthday gifts from the universe. It doesn't get much more "afar" than that!

It was a surprise. Several weeks ago, I thought about the “The Milagro Beanfield War” and wanted to see the movie again. So the Universe decided to give me that for my birthday. . . and so much more. A friend in my water aerobics class told me there was going to be a party, put on by the city of Albuquerque, to celebrate the 85^th birthday of the KiMo Theatre downtown. It opened on September 19, 1927, as a magnificent Pueblo Deco style “picture palace.” Not only has it been beautifully restored, it has recently been designated as a state landmark and added to the National Register of Historic Places. Commemorative plaques would be unveiled, and (wait for it. . .) “The Milagro Beanfield War,” written by a New Mexico author and filmed in Truchas, NM, would be shown. Author of the 1974 book, and co-writer of the 1988 screenplay, John Nichols, would be there. Celebratory cake and sparkling cider would be served. All free. 

My first gift was arriving at the downtown parking structure, seeing the sign that read “Have your permit or $6 parking fee ready,” holding out $5 and $1 bills to the attendant, telling her I was attending the KiMo event, then hearing, “Oh, then there’s no charge. It’s free.” Thank you. A block away, on the sidewalk in front of the theater, the event is ready to begin.

Two members of the Zia pueblo were establishing the consciousness for the evening. They wore knee-length, beaded moccasins, porcupine-quill-like chest plates, headdresses, silver tinwork armlets, to one of which was fastened a brown, furry paw, and feathers in their shiny, black, braided hair. I wondered if the paw was previously attached to the narrow, brown fur pelt hanging down from the back of the older man’s head past his knees. He raised a flute to his lips and greeted the four directions with music. Then he welcomed everyone, about 150 people forming a semi-circle around him, on the sidewalk. Acknowledging the importance of the day we are born, he mentions the theatre then asks if anyone there has a September birthday. Two of us do. Called forward, we stand next to him as he sings his father’s birthday song, in his native language, to the theater and the two of us, accompanied by the beat of a drum. Throughout the evening, total strangers continue to wish me “Happy Birthday.”

There are 19 pueblos, or villages, of different indigenous people, in New Mexico. A bystander next to me didn’t know which pueblo the performers came from, so, after the welcoming ceremony, I asked the younger one. “Zia pueblo,” he answered. How perfect. They were not from one of the 18 other pueblos. They were from the “Zia” pueblo, the one whose symbol is the sun.

The Zia Sun Symbol, a red circle with radiating lines on a yellow background, is featured on the New Mexico state flag. Its design reflects their tribal philosophy, the basic harmony of all things in the universe. The four sets of four lines that extend in four directions from the sun represent the four seasons, the four times of day, the four directions and the four stages in the life of a person. My life purpose is “Share the Light.” Just like the sun. In the morning meditation CD I have used for more than fifteen years, Meher Baba, the Indian mystic and avatar who spent 42 years in silence, uses the sun as a simile in describing “selfless service”: 

Selfless service is unaffected by results. It is like the rays of 

the sun that serve the world by shining alike on all creation, on

the grass in the field, on the birds in the air, on the beasts

in the forest, on all mankind; on saint and sinner, rich and 

poor, strong and weak – unconscious of their attitude toward

it.

The universe knows I am a symbolic thinker and delights in giving me a gift filled with symbolism. Much of my life has been dedicated to service. I now live in New Mexico due to a spiritual calling. The quality of the light in the high desert, closer to the sun at an elevation of 5,000 -7,500’, is noticeably different and has long attracted artists and writers.

Once the welcome and plaque unveiling are complete, the architect who supervised the theatre restoration leads a walking tour, pointing out and explaining the renovations. There are 39 cow skulls, with glowing red lights in their eye sockets, lining the proscenium and walls. Murals depicting the Seven Cities of Cibola accompany theatergoers up the stairs. From one of the trailers preceding the movie, I learn that “KiMo” means “King of Its Kind” in the tewa language. It resonates nicely with my last name. 

An author’s table is set up in the lobby for book signing, and the local, independent bookstore, Bookworks, conveniently sells John Nichols’ books, including his newest one, and The Milagro Beanfield War. I buy a copy. Nichols takes time to talk with each person in line and writes a personal message in each book he signs. He wishes me great success in writing A Caregiver’s Journey. He’s quite the raconteur when introducing the film. He shares humorous tales about working with Robert Redford on the screenplay and concludes with a self-deprecating anecdote. At one award presentation, he received a lamb. He says, “As soon as it is placed in my arms, it pisses all over me. I’ll leave you with that. Enjoy the movie.” In addition to the movie, popcorn and soda are free. Later, when given a choice of birthday cake, I select the one with icing on top. “Happy Birthday from afar, Terranda.” Thank you!

It Can Be Easy. . .

As I look at my printer sitting in a box on the floor by my desk, I need to know, "It can be easy." It can be easy to hook it up and have it work after it sat in a Ventura, CA storage unit for a year, jostled its way across three states in a moving van, froze during a snowy, overnight stay in Flagstaff, AZ in winter at an elevation of 7,500' then finally landed in Albuquerque. I haven't actively practiced knowing, "It can be easy," for a long time. I used to practice it when I managed a real estate office in San Clemente, CA. Every time agents would come up to me with long, convoluted explanations of the problems in their transactions, I would smile and say, "It can be easy."

It didn't help that a top-producing, hysterically-funny former attorney in the office thoroughly enjoyed entertaining himself and regaling his audience with fascinating tales about the Gordian knots in his transactions. Untying them engaged his intellect and helped him avoid the boredom of mundane sales. I still remember an escrow in which his client, also an attorney, had to write a personal check to his lender so they would review his short-sale file (loan balance higher than sale price). The lender wouldn't accept a check drawn on their own bank, where the client also did his personal banking. This event provided a wealth of material for humorous episodes in the ongoing drama. My only concern was that the new agents, enthralled by the tales, had eyes big as saucers while listening. My only defense was to shrug my shoulders and say, "It can be easy." I said it so often, I believed it. The top producer and I had almost identical transactions: both of us represented attorneys; both transactions were short sales; both sales occurred in the same area, at the same time, in the same market conditions. He had a bank that wouldn't accept its own check, and mine was easy. I laughed when I realized mine was easy because I had been saying, "It can be easy." So it was.

As an aside, just for fun, the former-attorney top producer had his own personalized sign riders made and used them as door prizes to lure other Realtors to come see his listings on broker preview day. Instead of the usual “Pool,” “Ocean View,” or “Price Reduction” riders, his said, “Seller Will Take Less,” “Original Carpet,” “Geological  Problems,” or “Unpermitted Repairs.”

I should have known I was going to have to start practicing “It can be easy” again. Last Friday, an Albuquerque Realtor friend of mine had her first colonoscopy scheduled. I offered to pray for her. “Teach what you need to learn.”

Thank you, Terranda, I am not at all worried.

      Great! But it could also be a positive experience! : )

This is amazing but if a colonoscopy can be a pleasant experience this really was. The care was superior and everything was normal. The doctor actually said that my colon was boring!

      I was "praying knowing" that your procedure would be one of grace and ease.

Some of my “It can be easy” thinking must have rubbed off, because today, one week ahead of the deadline, I finished the required manuscript pages for the writing workshop. Now if I can only get that #$%^& printer to work!

Do You Think I Know What I’m Doing?

Do you think I know what I’m doing?
That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?
As much as a pen knows what it’s writing, 
or the ball can guess where it’s going next.

                                                                                            - Rumi                

Laughing, laughing, laughing, I listen to Gangaji speak spontaneously about Rumi’s poetry with interviewer Chris Mohr on the CD “A Love Secret Spoken.” One of my favorite CDs, it is available on Amazon which describes it this way: “The combination of Rumi's passionate verse followed by Gangaji's clear, sutra-like commentary is a marriage of two wisdom mirrors, eight centuries apart, each having the extraordinary capacity to reflect and express the inexpressible truth. Here is an open invitation to discover yourself as love itself, alive and present in the heart of all being.” The two of them delight in this verse, laughing at themselves as they talk about the idea so beautifully expressed, and it becomes one of my favorites.

Rumi’s expression of this truth especially resonated with me as Grant and I began his journey with melanoma together in 2009. We had no idea where we were going. We still have no idea where we are going. Although we have some clear intentions! I believe we always live on the edge of the unknown, and it is so terrifying, we become experts in denial so we can feel like we have some control as Life flows through us. The paradox is that while we have no control, we are also the creators of our lives. I don’t know about you, but I certainly am having fun. It is entertaining, and certainly not boring.

In working on The Caregiver’s Journey manuscript this week, I have surrendered to and immersed myself in writing, to the joy of kairos, the sense of timelessness in which creation takes place. Some of the writing is nothing short of miraculous – how a car accident I was in a year before Grant was born prepared me for his illness thirty-five years later. How could I possibly have orchestrated that? Do you think I know what I’m doing? I wrote about companioning a dear friend, driving her to UCLA, going to radiation and chemotherapy appointments with her before her death from skin cancer a year before Grant was diagnosed. I would then do the same activities with him.

I didn’t really know what I was doing yesterday either when I went to the We ART the People’s 10^th annual arts and crafts fair in downtown Albuquerque’s Robinson Park. It was  sponsored by the off center community arts project which reaches out to the homeless, disabled and disadvantaged to provide them with supplies and an opportunity to create art. There was a giant puppet and samba dance-n-drum parade. There were magic acts, fortune telling, face painting, group art making areas for both children and adults and over one hundred folk arts and crafts vendors selling everything from hand-painted silk scarves to handmade birdhouses. Also featured were a costumed storyteller, a jazz belly dancer (go figure) and two musical performance stages. It felt like Santa Barbara's Solstice. The colorful and charming fortune-telling booth captured my attention, especially when I saw the sign reading 50¢.

Rainbow pinwheels spinning in the wind and fluttering, multicolored mylar streamers looped from post to post created a waiting line in front of the mystical, brightly-colored, fabric-draped booth. A belt of coins hung above the fortune teller’s window. A faux-crystal ball perched on the roof. The fortune teller’s name was “Carma.” Who could resist? When it was my turn, she held out a round, clear-glass fish bowl filled with playing cards, inviting me to choose one. The organizing artists had pasted stamps and hand-written labels on them. Selecting one with my non-dominant hand, I chose the nine of hearts. It read, “News from afar.” “I am a nine of hearts in The Cards of Your Destiny,” I told the fortune teller. “I am too,” she replied. It is the card of Universal Love. We were off to a good start. The card was mine to keep or do with as I pleased.

Next, she reached down into a basket full of boxed oracle cards to select a set. When she asked which one I’d like to use, I said, “Use your intuition.” She chose the Universal Wisdom Cards, shuffled them, fanned them out, and offered me one. I selected the “Magic Tree” card. She read me its meaning: “It is time for you to release the creative power within you. You are an artist of light. You have the power to create happiness, abundance and joy. Make your intention clear, for the universe is always listening and responds to all your words and thoughts. Be clear as you create the life of your dreams.” The star in front of the magic tree on the card reminded me of the star-filled sky I wrote about last week. News from afar, indeed. “God winks,” my neighbor Judy’s daughter calls all these seeming coincidences. It’s okay if I don’t know what I’m doing as I move forward into the unknown. Guidance will be provided. Confirmation of divine order, reassurance, comfort, support will accompany me along the way. God winked again this morning as I pulled out of the pool parking lot after aquacise. A bumper sticker on the car next to me said, “Move confidently in the direction of your dreams.”