Much can be written
Much can be said
And the essence remains:
We
All
Heal with Love.
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Life and love
Champion Compassion
Champion compassion, not judgment.
Hold close kindness rather than disdain.
Treasure connection over hierarchy.
Prize intention above gain.
Cherish empathy, for it will nourish.
Uphold truth …
Remember
Learn.
Protect hearts, and peace will follow.
Defend the weak, and they’ll be strong.
Nurture hope, and it will grow sturdy.
Safeguard the Earth
Where
All
belong.
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Elixir of Hope: The Recipe
In one heart, mix equal parts:
Pearls of connection, words of caring, acts of kindness, steps of courage, hugs of comfort, breaths of peace, paths of truth, smiles of joy, touches of compassion.
Brew with gentleness till ample Hope forms.
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Interconnected
Photo: Etsy
“She has a symbiotic relationship with that phone,” the mother complained, eyebrows raised and head tipped in the direction of her daughter.
The pre-teen (on cue) rolled her eyes without lifting them from her opposing thumbs and the aforementioned item’s screen.
“See?!” the mom announced, vindicated.
“Whatever,” the girl sighed in the tone dedicated to oldsters who cannot possibly understand the nuances and necessities of modern life. She placed her phone face-down on the desk and turned her head to her mother. “Happy now?”
The mom nodded, half-mollified, half-mortified.
The lass-with-sass turned to me. “She keeps on me for that phone but she’s the one who’s always on the phone.”
“It’s work stuff,” the mother defended, reddening. Her own ‘lifeline’ already half-way out of her purse.
“Mine’s school stuff,” the girl countered. Her eyebrows rose in victory, a mirror image of her mother’s.
I smiled at their banter. It was a well-rehearsed dance, a sparring of connection more than true conflict.
“Funny thing …” I pulled out the work I had planned for our session that day: a passage and discussion about symbiosis, the close and often long-term interaction between two different species …
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Meaning Less
Photo from: Gentleman Bobwhite
Some things in life mean more.
Or should.
To any.
Safety. Food. Clean water. Air. Shelter.
Connection to another.
Some things mean less.
Or can.
At least to many.
Money. Fame. Opinion. Power.
They swing in winds-of-value, superfluous.
For they can matter only if necessity already filled
One’s pantry.
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What You Call a Thing
What you call a thing, may well become it.
What you name a person, may weave itself into their cells.
What you title, leads a story.
What you tag, may stick around.
Definitions matter. Meanings become truth implied, rehearsed, accepted; whether it is hidden from a awareness or intensely shown.
Words create reality and shape semantics.
What we say becomes a part of who we are and what we stand for. What we give or take away in voice is woven through the tapestry of those around us: how we see them, how they are intended to be seen by themselves and others.
How we label people, places, power, actions … What we tell to whom and how. All these not only make us, but format the very being of our children. Our labels inscribe children’s spirits and knit into the fibers of every connection made, be it bathed in kindness or in less than kind.
May we be aware, and tender what we mean and how we use it.
Words matters. Every time.
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Ascend
Cavedale. Hope Valley, UK
Conquer worry, vanquish panic
Climb peaks of improbability
And do not let what is or isn’t feasible
Take the best of what
Is possible.
Master hope
Defeat all hate
Into compassionate submission.
Ascend into yourself
As you were meant to be:
A part of all that is
Uniquely interconnected
No better and no less
Than any other who draws breath.
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Biggest in his eyes!
“My daddy is more bigger,” he announced after examining a photo on my wall of my niece and her (rather tall) husband. His curls bounced in certitude and his tone spanned the space from pity to challenge.
“Is he?” I noted, winking at the boy’s mom.
I know the father. Objectively this little guy’s dad isn’t particularly tall, but this wasn’t about being objective … To his son, the father may as well be the giant of all giants.
“Yea,” the preschooler nodded emphatically. “My daddy is even more bigger than …” he scanned the room for inspiration, “… a whole Empire State Building house or even more bigger than …” he narrowed his eyes in concentration, opened them wide, “a giraffe!”
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Learned Instinct
What do you do when you are worried?
How do you act when you feel harmed?
If angered, wronged, misheard, left out?
What do you do when someone threatens?
How do you manage double binds
That tangle up your mind?
Do you cower away?
Do you lash out?
Do you curl into a ball under the covers
And turn off all reaction, action, light?
Does your body compensate
In sweet diversions
Or does your gut churn ire
Into acid
And shuts down?
Do you sob, mope, break down
Break something
Break someone?
Does your heart thunder in your eardrums
As your blood pressure spikes red
Behind your eyes
Or does it plummet
Grayish
Into numb?
Do you respond in kind
To wound another
To give as good as you had gotten
To show who’s boss
To cut to size any potential bully
So they stay down?
Or do you shrink
Into wall flowered corners
Get by through fading into
Silence
Till all turmoil passes
And you can seek the bits you hadn’t managed
To protect
And tentatively try to
Patch life up?
When feelings flood, how do you manage:
Float on? Hold tight? Spit out? Swirl dizzyingly in the eddies?
Drown?
What is the language of reaction
In your body?
Does your mind
Command
Reflexively
Or does it find a pause
Between a stimuli and action
To weave insight to choice
And sort true danger from benign?
Do you collapse
Into outdated paths
Formed by a not-good-enough childhood
And unhealed histories
Still near
Or has your palette widened
To allow volition
Over instinct
And
Kindness — to yourself, to others —
To find courage
Over fear?
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Immerse
Immerse yourself
Like a child in play
Like stepping into magic
Like unfolding life
In every breath
You draw
Child in Play. Photo: A. Cohen
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Na'ama Yehuda 
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