The Three Keys to Peace, Joy and Harmony

"Know Thyself," carved into the temple at Delphi (circa 440 BC)

"Nothing in Excess." The second motto of the Temple of Delphi.

And for me, the third key to bring about peace, joy and harmony into my life is
The Golden Rule. . . . which dates back to ancient times and encompasses a wide range of world cultures and religions.

The ancient GREEK meaning of the Golden Rule:

"What thou avoidest suffering thyself seek not to impose on others." Epictetus

"It is impossible to live a pleasant life without living wisely and well and justly (agreeing 'neither to harm nor be harmed'), and it is impossible to live wisely and well and justly without living a pleasant life." Epicurus

Other translations of the Golden Rule" are:

Buddhism

"Putting oneself in the place of another, one should not kill nor cause another to kill."

"One who, while himself seeking happiness, oppresses with violence other beings who also desire happiness, will not attain happiness hereafter."

Baha'i Faith

"Ascribe not to any soul that which thou wouldst not have ascribed to thee, and say not that which thou doest not."

"Blessed is he who preferreth his brother before himself."

Christianity

"Love your neighbor as yourself."

"Do to no one what you yourself dislike." ("Do unto others as you would have done unto you.")

Confucianism

"Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself."

Taoism

"Regard your neighbor's gain as your own gain, and your neighbor's loss as your own loss."

"The sage has no interest of his own, but takes the interests of the people as his own. He is kind to the kind; he is also kind to the unkind: for Virtue is kind. He is faithful to the faithful; he is also faithful to the unfaithful: for Virtue is faithful."

Hinduism

"One should never do that to another which one regards as injurious to one’s own self. This, in brief, is the rule of dharma. Other behavior is due to selfish desires."

Judaism

"That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn."

"Thou shalt not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself: I am the LORD."

Islam

“That which you want for yourself, seek for mankind.”

“None of you [truly] believes until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself.”

Jainism

"Just as pain is not agreeable to you, it is so with others. Knowing this principle of equality treat other with respect and compassion."

GOD BLESS YOU ALL AND MAY THIS NEW YEAR BRING US CLOSER TO OUR ORIGINAL SELVES . . . OUR TRUE SELVES. MAY WE FIND OUR MEANING WITHIN. AND MAY WE ALL ASPIRE TO LIVE BY THE THREE KEYS TO PEACE, JOY AND HARMONY.

Looking Down at Up's Reflection

We all met at El Charro’s Restaurant tonight for my mom’s annual would be ‘birthday’ dinner, were she still alive and eating. We had reservations for twenty at six-thirty. But first, let me back track, everyone met at Saturday’s Palm Sunday / Vatican appointed Saint Patrick’s Day mass where my mom’s name was to be mentioned in the memorial part of the service. Everyone but me, that is; I went straight to the bar at El Charro’s, at 5:30, and waited for everyone else to arrive after the mass. My mom was not a church-goer. She was the most spiritual, non-judgmental, loving, witty being I have ever known. But, she was not a cemetery visitor, a wreath layer, a church-goer, a mourner type. She was alive. She had experienced too much pain, sorrow and sadness in her life to waste anymore living hours revisiting those ghosts. She would have been sitting at that bar – and she was - with me having a green beer. So I, her dependable teenage rebel child who heard her devilishly inviting whispers in my ear and I sheepishly complied, skipped the church part (even though I am probably the most religious, dogmatic, ritualistic person I know) and went straight to the bar, her framed photo in my purse, and asked for whatever Saint Patrick’s Day drink the bartender had to offer. My mom was there with me. I had no doubt.

There was a guy next to me. I say ‘guy’ because he was probably in his late twenties. He was a man. And, he was a guy . . . the guy next to me at the bar. I told him I skipped out on church. He told me he skipped out on work. Cheers. I was waiting for my ‘party.’ He was waiting for his carry-out. We both watched the high school basketball game on the bar television. It really didn’t surprise me that one of the teams playing was Detroit Pershing High: my mom and dad’s alma mater. And, it really didn’t surprise me that the guy worked for a company that took over the old building that once housed the company my dad worked for, right down the street. I passed it on the way in, looked for the water tower I remembered as a child and had flash backs of driving my dad to work in the station wagon so I could use the car for the day. This is my home town. It’s not like I never come here, but it felt so far away and foreign to me today. There were a few more ‘coincidences’ that matter only to me. I knew my mom was with me. I knew I did right by listening to my heart and not giving in into the familial pressures - as invisible as they are; as real as they seem - nor the figments of fragmented guilt over my own civil disobedience.

I had two drinks before my family arrived.

I was trying hard, with all the strength I could gather, to have a good day; but I wasn’t. I was trying to keep my smile steady while my eyes welled up and I curled my toes into the floor hoping the pain of doing so would stop my overwhelming need to burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is something bothering you?”

“You seem upset?”

Questions were coming in. I had no answers; only lies.

“Nothing. I’m fine”

I figured I could play the game too. I could pretend. I could ‘put my happy face on’ and get through the night. I gave it a shot, for the sake of the kids and my dad. But for the rest of them, well . . .

“What’s wrong?” With me? Me, the one who wanted to bow out if they were to start singing “Happy Birthday” to the lighted candle shaped like a little birthday cake that my aunt, my mom’s only living relative, brought. My discomfort annoyed them. My reaction insulted them. We didn’t sing. Thank God. My mom is dead! Dead. If I celebrate anything it will be the day she got to leave this craziness. Even the church celebrates the saints on the day they left this world for the better world.

What’s wrong with me? Hmmmmmmm? I don't have to think long on that one: I am without a job. I have been unemployed for longer than I choose to acknowledge. Despite putting resumes out every day, I have not found work. I am broke. I have liquidated all of my assets. I have canceled all of my policies. I’ve been without medical care and dental care for a year. I have no house. I have no food. Well, not much food. I have no money. I have no job. I have no peanut butter. I have no mother. I have no husband. I have no jelly. I have nobody. I am, for the most part, alone. I am alone (but not lonely) and moneyless (but not penniless) and foodless (but not starving) and houseless (but not homeless) . . . and for today, on this day, I am sad . . . but not suicidal. I am standing at the edge of the cliff looking down at up's reflection. I am not good enough to be a willing and able participant in this world; and I am not bad enough to be seen in my robes spun of desperation, fear and humility. Speaking of humility: it is a great thing, an honorable state - but when the robes come off and all that is visible is a scary looking ribcage holding the heart captive; that's when humility feels more like shame. And that is what I felt when being asked what is wrong with me and I clutched my robe tighter than ever before.

I am also in the midst of a powerful process; I am transitioning into the next phase of my womanhood – of my life – and I am doing it alone. Solo. Solo no one can hear me . . . an inside joke of my mom’s. I have no female elders left to hold my hand and guide my through this process – this long, dark tunnel of mystery. This winding, rolling, uphill path. This upheaval of pocketed and locketed emotions. This unraveling of memories – reel by reel. This exhuming of skeletal pain until only the marrow is holding me up.

“What is wrong with me?” ME?

I had another drink, a Jack and Coke; my mother’s drink. I didn’t eat. My stomach was knotted. I felt my mother. She was with me. And unfortunately, her pain was with me. But I’m not as good at covering it up as she was in her Jackie Kennedy fashion. I felt her pain. I felt my pain – and then I felt the pain of not wanting to charge a five dollar cheese enchilada.

“Lindy, you’re not eating?”

“Do you want some of mine; I can’t eat all of this?”

“Here’s part of a chicken burrito if you want it.”

Could I sink any smaller in my chair? Could I Alice my way into Wonderland oblivion?

I don’t know how I did it. I didn’t plan my escape at all. But, somehow, I found myself in my car and I was turning the key and I was backing out of the parking spot and I was approaching the exit of the lot and I was on the main road. I was gone. And I knew I’d have hell to pay for leaving without the formal goodbyes. And I knew no hell could be worse then my staying in the condition I was in. I knew some things, after all. I wasn’t that crazy.

I exited I-94 at Cadieux. There was some garbage strewn along the road. I turned right onto Harper and a couple of people ran across the street in front of me. I quickly slowed down so as not to hit them. That was real to me. This street is real to me. That litter is real to me. Those people running across the street in traffic was real to me.

I’m almost home. This is Detroit. I’m safe now.

Living, Breathing Walking the Labyrinth

I have always been a spiritual being for as long as I can remember - far back in my childhood years - always searching for the answers to life's (and death's) greatest mysteries, reading and learning about other religions and belief systems . . . always walking the spiritual Labyrinth - checking out the endless possibilities, sometimes getting lost or stranded along the way.
I wouldn't have done it any other way. I would have been bored stiff on the straight and narrow path . . . I would have been smothered on the well traveled roads. I loved the curves, the twists, the secret niches within the Labyrinth's ancient design. So many choices - all branching from and to one singular point of origin.
But, wherever my curiosities, my hungers, my thirsts have taken me, and though I converted to Greek Orthodoxy years ago, a part of me always remained rooted in the soil of Catholicism. My mother planted that seed (more like a bulb) and nurtured it - so like a perennial flower, a rose, I kept coming back each year . . . and all the pruning back I did on myself - thinking I was cutting off old to start anew - aided in more and more roses budding and blooming the following spring.
I am still an open-hearted and thirsty spiritual soul . . . not as much of a devout religious woman as I was (while raising my children) nor am I a new ager . . . I am somewhere in between the two. I know what I know deep inside. I now know there are no right or wrong paths - no right or wrong religions or belief systems . . . and I know there is one and only one point of origin. One creator. One God . . . who goes by many different names; wears many different faces; speaks in many different tongues, and has a great sense of humor. There is no great race to reach the answers at the end. We can take as long as we want. We can take the most difficult of paths if we choose. We can choose - and that's the most beautiful of our gifts.
But, getting back to my personal roots in Catholicism: I was named (my middle name) after Saint Therese of Lisieux - the "Little Flower." When I was a little girl, my mom gave me an icon of St. Therese; her image, superimposed on an old transverse piece of a tree trunk - the bark around it like a frame. I have had it with me through all of my moves and my travels. It is so very special to me not only because it is such an old family piece and it is the likeness of my Patron Saint . . . but also it once belonged to my mom.
Over the years I have had endless conversations with Saint Therese. We had shared many things in common - our youth (she died, a Carmelite Nun, at the young age of 24 so she will always be a "young" saint in the church), our religion, our love for Jesus, and writing (she was also a writer and poet).
I talk to her more like a sister, a friend, for I have never really felt I needed to "go through" another to talk to God. I talk to God directly. But, St. Therese gives me great advice and has helped me through much of the turmoil in my life.
The other night, I dreamed that a messenger came to tell me that a single rose had been delivered to me. This has great meaning to me, as St. Therese's 'signature' is the rose. She has said, "I will spend my heaven doing good on Earth. I will let fall a shower of roses."
I actually forgot about the dream until I was journaling before bed last night. Then the light bulb went on in my heart . . . things - more signs - became apparently clearer.
With the upheaval of my life that exploded in my face on (Monday) October 1 . . . it had slipped my conscious mind that October 1 is the Feast Day / Memorial of Saint Therese of Lisieux.
Her life is remembered and celebrated - my life was suddenly remembered . . . the life I had not been living.
I packed up my icon of St. Therese yesterday. I put it in a box labeled, "special." The icon now serves to remind me that I need to love mySelf, above all else. I need never put mySelf in a situation where love is absent or distorted. My icon now has a stain of wax across it - an accident, perhaps, when 'he' slammed my lit candle down to extinguish it in his 'not so gentle' ways. I left some of the wax alone - again, a reminder - and how appropriate that St. Therese will now and forever be the image of Self-love for me. October is the month she is remembered in more ways than one. October is the month I begin my new LIFE. And October is also the month for domestic violence awareness.

Potions, Lotions and Magic Charms: Standing meditation - some Tai Chi breathing exercises - stand with feet shoulder width apart - with knees slightly bent - spine straight (as if suspended from a string in the sky) - shoulders down and relaxed - relax into your feet (feeling 'rooted') - arms in front of thighs (out about an inch) - eyes focussed on an object straight ahead - mouth slightly open - tongue pressed up against the roof of your mouth - focus energy on the area around the navel - find your balance using that point as your center - slowly and deeply breathe in through your nose - as you breath and fill the bottom of your lungs up to the top, allow your arms to be raised effortlessly until they are directly in front of you (shoulder height, perpendicular to your body) - hold for a moment or two (without actually 'holding' your breath) - exhale slowly and completely through your nose from the bottom of your lungs up - allowing your arms to be lowered back down to the position in front of your thighs (but not touching your legs) - let your wrists and elbows lead - let your finger tips be the last to rise and the last to fall as they follow your wrist. Do this three times - feeling grounded - 'rooted' - into your feet while feeling your spine is suspended by a string from the sky - center yourself over your navel area - your center - your dantien. Remain centered, rooted, up-right, relaxed, empty... smooth, flowing movements that become ONE movement rather than many movements. Relaxed awareness.

This is what I now know: Plant a seed too deeply in the ground and it will not be able to reference the sun for upward growth . . . In other words; when I go too deeply within myself, I get lost and can't always find my way out. Sometimes things are what they are. And sometimes trying too to hard to "self-reflect" in a well that has run dry causes one to fall in . . . i.e. indulging oneself in the "what ifs" of the long ago, far away events of the past.

He said / She said: The history of all times, and of today especially, teaches that ... women will be forgotten if they forget to think about themselves. Louise Otto

Note: The painting of the rose called: FAITH by artist: Linda Paul

Pope Benedict XVI Arrives at the Phanar

I pray that some understanding and needed changes between the two churches will be gained from this visit:

Pope Benedict XVI Arrives at the Phanar

ISTANBUL, Turkey - After the welcome of Pope Benedict XVI by Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, the Pope arrived at the See of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. There he was welcomed again by Patriarch Bartholomew at the airport, the Hierarchy of the Throne, clergy and numerous faithful from around the world.
The Pope's arrival to the Phanar was accompanied by the festal ringing of bells and was followed by a Doxology in the Patriarchal Cathedral of St. George. At the end of the service the Ecumenical Patriarch welcomed Pope Benedict XVI, who responded accordingly.
Before advancing to the Hall of the Throne, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew and Pope Benedict XVI venerated the relics of Saints Gregory the Theologian and John Chrysostom, both former Archbishops of the Ecumenical Patriarchate and predecessors of Patriarch Bartholomew.
The relics of the two saints were taken to Rome in the 1204 sacking of Constantinople during the Fourth Crusade. It was a request from Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew to Pope John Paul II, who wholeheartedly accepted, that initiated the return of the relics two years ago to their original resting place of the See of the Ecumenical Patriarchate.
Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, who was elected in 1991, personally attended the service at the Vatican for the return of the relics in November 2004. At that time, Pope John Paul II formally apologized for the sacking of Constantinople. The Ecumenical Patriarch also personally attended the funeral of the late Pope John Paul II last year.
Following the welcoming ceremony at the Patriarchate, Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew and Pope Benedict XVI met privately to discuss issues regarding Orthodox and Roman Catholic relations, including interreligious dialogue, world peace and mutual understanding.
On Thursday (Nov. 30), Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew will preside at the Patriarchal and Synodical Divine Liturgy at the Cathedral of St. George on the occasion of the feast day of St. Andrew the Apostle, the founder of the Church of Constantinople. This is the annual Thronal feast of the Ecumenical Patriarchate.
Pope Benedict XVI will be attending personally with his entourage the Divine Liturgy where an "exchange of the kiss of peace" and the reciting of the Lord's Prayer in Greek will take place. After an exchange of addresses and gifts, the two religious leaders will offer a joint blessing to the numerous faithful present in Greek and and Latin.