I wish everyone could appriciate his or her life the way you do it.

Best wishes to everyone for the new year!!!

Love Mirjam

Hubby recently said “It’s good to have 3 seasons” “Huh? We have 4″ “Oh”.
Crazy Mexicans can’t count ;)

It’s the trees fault that a man got killed? That’s pretty insane,…

OK, I’m envious for DSL, I admit that ;)

Just be glad you can wander the various worlds. Not many can :)
They are too caught up with their Lives and Duties.

My resolution for 2009 is to find this inner peace again. Not that it’s lost, only buried, under regret’s, and fear.

I know that inner peace is only moments away for the millions of humans that inhabit this world. Yet, sadly they are encouraged to look to profit and material wealth, rather than basic need. Yes the world needs money and obviously that is always going to be a massive motivating factor. But what all governments avoid, is that all we really need is to be happy. And Actually that doesn’t take that much ! XXXXXXX

I need to ask a question: if You reflect back and read the stories, which You have written down years ago, do You feel the same feelings what You felt back then while You were writing them. Obviously You may see the situation in a different way, or the plot, maybe critisize it in Your own mind, maybe be proud of it – but do the feelings from the past emerge back to you? (And if they do, are they changed, or do they ‘feel’ exactly the same as in past?)

I have this with music. At different times I listen to different styles of music made by different people. Whenever I cast the music I had been listening to, aside, new will be chosen. But whenever I find some old song(s), and replay it (either in my computer, in my MP3 player), I will feel the same feelings I did back then when (at that period of time) I listened to it. Those feelings let my past memories emerge and I see glimpses of them. In other words, if I listen to some ‘good old song’, I will relive (and refeel) the memories connected with that music. It’s like the music records my memories, and stores it up in another code – the code of music. And later when I listen to the music, I feel the old feelings and remember the memories. Does that make any sence?

So: music is one of the passions of my life, but to You, that must be writing Your books (even if it’s partly a duty to you, You started to write because it was Your dream, your passion, your call for life). So I thought of asking this question.

Do the stories, which You have written in the past, emerge the old feelings You had back then when You wrote them(the way music does to me)?

Well, I choosed in my past to offer to myself the luxury of spending 5 whole years within church stuff. It was a very good choise. After I eat and drink as much knowledge, inner experiences as I could, “my call” told to my heart: “now the outside world needs you, you know what to do. Go to them and wait untill some sould need you. Meanwhile, enjoy My creation and my plannet.” This was my feeling I tried to “translated” in common words.

AT NIGHT is another answer.

Night is even better to take a walk outside (if is not too cold). Stars. Only heart can be heard. (Perfect for me).

The truth is we want to do too much and we need help from others (family, friends, employees, students). We must delegate jobs and focus on what really matters: the soul.

Good night!

My english it´s not right,so, do you have a blog in spañish?

As you say, the most important item of news is always the weather, the topic that begins and/or ends almost every conversation: How cold will it get tomorrow? Do we need to cover the pipes? Will it rain tonight, before the hay lying in the fields can be bailed? And most important of all, to many of us, myself included – tornados have three times hit my place – will the cool front that is on its way be packing tornados?

When I go to the grocery story in town – the only grocer for twenty miles in any direction – everyone greets me and speak to me, everyone from the lady who works in the vegetable department and always remembers my daughter’s birthday to the store manager who knows which brand of coffee I like, to the checkout clerk who always asks how my dad is doing these days. They do this, not because I am anyone important – on the contrary, I am virtually a stranger to them although I have lived here almost three years now, and grew up here as a child (twenty years away is enough to earn the classification “stranger” – they speak to me and greet me because they do this with most everyone. There is no such thing as annonymity in a town of this size. Everyone knows everyone, and any unfamiliar face sticks out like a radish in a cabbage patch. And in such cases especially, much weight is given to family lineage. It is not at all uncommon to be asked by a complete stranger, “I don’t recognize your name – Who are you parents? Where do you live exactly?” When I first moved here, I took offense at such questions. In the city, such information is none of anyone’s business unless, for some reason, it is offered voluntarily. In the city, I would never give out my address, much less directions, to strangers. Here it is a prerequisite to establishing any form of communication. I find myself, all the time, telling people, “Oh, I live out behind the [community name ommitted] post office, right across from the Brown’s old place. My front gate faces where the old house used be before it burned down… Yea, on top of the hill, where the two ponds are. Yep, that’s the place – the night light you see back in there, peeping above the pines, that’s me.”

It is strange living in a place where you know that everyone you see knows who you are, even if you don’t yet know who they all are. You see – in the city, the stranger is the norm. Only seldom in the city to we run into the familiar face. Most people we meet are “strangers.” Here, it is the opposite. Everyone is familiar, everyone is known to everyone – though they may not all necessarily be “friends,” they do know one another’s faces and names. So, when a stranger does appear, they stick out like a neon sign. Everyone whispers, “There’s that stranger again. This is the third time I’ve seen her. She must be living here somewhere. Who is she?” You introduce yourself to people, but they don’t speak – don’t really speak – until they know your lineage, who your parents and grandparents are, until they can solidly place you within the framework of the familiar. And if you aren’t from around here and thus have no family ties here, you can live here for decades and still be viewed, essentially, as an “outsider.” Altogether, it is a very clannish social environment, very closed to entry from the outside, but, once you do manage to enter into the heart of it, there is virtually no escaping, as you have become “one of them.”

I have been here only for three years, and so, I am still on the very fringes of that society – most people still eye me with a certain degree of suspicion. Which is fine with me, because the most important thing here, the most precious thing to me is the solitude I find in living here – a kind of solitude that I could never find in any city. Here, the forest, the wild creatures, the landscape itself are my constant companions, as well as my spiritual guides. I learn from the land, as it pushes me and encourages me to grow.

Then, as you say, Paulo, there is this other world that opens up and invites me to enter into it the moment I switch on my computer. For me, it is a matter of balance between the two. Too much of the headline news, or even too much of communicating only in this mode, where I never see peoples’ faces, would drive me to insanity just as surely as might the solitude if never it were to be broken, if never I were to communicate in any way with what I call the “outside world.”

Love to all!
Savita