Quote of the Day

Savita, Savita,

nice story

yerterday The poetry, and today the poetry of your heart.
Thank you

Birds seem to guide you (ibis, nightingale entering at home etc.)

I too on the road of Santiago de Compostela, birds were my guides.

And on the return, a mystic meeting: an eagle with human eyes, the 27th december 2009 (A friend said to me that the apostle Saint jeans was one of alive 4 and that its representation was the eagle (on the road, the words of the eagle resounded in me: “Read Holy Jean, Saint Jean in the Bible “) .Une EXTRAORDINARY meeting, as of numerous for 5 months (angels, guardien angel, message of God…Mary )”
And I think that it is necessary to testify, to write; yes write leash a track; and your ease to be written is beautiful, the reading is very pleasant, and you have to testify a lot.
All my love, and my encouragements, and my prayers

By love and by His love
Sido

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Mariell, hope you are joking. That was a good one. Is not enough that the young boys look day by day more as some girls? God save us.

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Dear Paulo,

Sorry the first two lines in previous comments are yours and I forget to put quotes and the name of your book. This is what happens when you unintentionally make mistakes on the Internet. People think that you copied somebody’s work when you yourself that you did not want to do so..,

Anyways, apologies for forgetting to put quotes in your two lines of previous comment with your name and title of book.

God bless you all !

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Querido Paulo,

MARG,

Ca

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Words of great strength and powerful encouragement,
Thanks Pauolo,
Love
Breda

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The Boat of Faith,Hope and Love can be crashed by storm,to make you either stronger or to stop.Whatever the result -it will indicate intention.

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When I applied for a creative writing fellowship in the MFA program at a major university, it was under the urgings of the former director of the creative writing department. I hadn’t planned on pursuing a graduate degree, but I happened to bump into him one day in the hallway of the English department as I was using the copy machine. He said, “All you have to do is fill out the forms – you’re in! Guaranteed! The poetry program, or the fiction – your choice. You’re in either way; though, of course, poetry is the better of the two.” (He was a poet himself.)

So I did as he suggested, mostly because I was broke. My daughter had just been born, and I was not having any luck finding work that would support us both and yet allow me the time that I desired to spend with her. The stipend for the fellowship was small, by most people’s standards, but at least it guaranteed money coming in every month to buy food and other necessities. So, I filled out the application, two, in fact – one to the poetry program, one to the fiction program, because try as I might, I just could not choose. I loved writing both, and to think of not doing either one seemed like cutting off a piece of my own flesh. I might as well have been asked, “Which leg would you like us to cut off – the right or the left?” So I decided to let them choose – I would submit both applications, along with the required writing samples, and I would let the admissions board over the creative writing program select which I was most suited to pursue.

A week before the deadline for the decisions, my phone rang: it was the incumbent director of the creative writing department. “You’ve been accepted,” she said. “This is wonderful!” I replied in ernest surprise. Although I had been “guaranteed” acceptance, it did not seem real until then, because I knew that there were hundreds, if not thousands of applicants, and only a handful of positions in each department. But it was real – I was in! But the next words that she spoke threw me for a loop: “You’ve been accepted to both programs,” she said. “I’m calling you because I need you to choose as soon as possible, so that I’ll know in which program I still have a spot to fill. If you can let me know by tomorrow, that would be very helpful. And, by the way, please don’t mention this phone call to anyone, because we’re not notifying the applicants of their acceptance until next week.”

So there I was, right back where I had started – forced to choose: poetry or fiction? The right leg or the left? And I had less than twenty-four hours to decide. That day I did not think about it at all. That night I prayed. I thought that maybe a sign would come to me in my dreams, a decision would make itself apparent in my sleep. It did not. I awoke just as torn, just as lost as to a decision as when I went to bed. I knew that I should call her back at 9:00 o’clock. That was less than two hours away. What to do?! How to decide?!

Finally I said, “Okay, God, I’m giving my life over into your hands – you decide.” A great sense of surrender came over me and engulfed me completely as I unzipped the coin pocket on my wallet. My fingers were shaking just a little, as I knew that I was completely committed to the outcome of the action I was about to take. I was giving myself over wholly, not to “fate,” not to “chance,” but to powers larger then myself, to the God that I was invoking in my prayer, asking to intervene and show me the way. I looked through the coins in my purse and withdrew the quarter that seemed shinier, newer and less worn, than all the others. I held it tight in my hand and I said, aloud, “Okay – heads it is fiction, tails it is poetry. May God decide!” And with that, I threw the coin in the air. When I opened my eyes and looked down, I saw an eagle staring back at me – tails it was: poetry!

So I jumped in the shower to get ready; I decided that, rather than calling, I would just go down there. I needed to sign the papers anyway, accepting the post, and I hadn’t yet met the new director, who had only recently arrived from out of state. So I got in my car and off I went, across town to the university campus. But it was rush hour, and there was a lot of traffic. As I sat in traffic, a certain panic began to assail me: Would this mean that I would never write fiction? Would this mean that I would be a poet only, henceforth, forever and always? What about the stories that I enjoyed so much writing? What about the wonderful professors in the fiction department under whose guidance I would never get the chance to study? What about…? My thoughts were getting out of hand. I was losing control of myself. I needed God. I needed God right here and now. I needed to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was the path that I was meant to follow at this moment in my life. So, again I prayed; I said, “God, please give me a sign!” And I know that in the Bible it says that “it is a wicked generation that asks for a sign,” but if asking for a sign such is this is wickedness, surely I was guilty of wickedness in that moment, because I wanted a sign, I needed a sign, I had to have a sign right then and there, before it was too late. But, before I could scarcely get the words out of my mouth, before the words of that prayer completely left my lips, as though in answer to the thought formed in my mind before I could even finish speaking it aloud, a very strange thing happened. I was sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, barely moving, and this ibis came from out of nowhere and landed smack in the center of the hood of my car, then turned its head and looked me square in the eyes, before flapping its wings and flying away, disappearing above the trees that lined the road on the other side. The ibis – symbol of Thoth, the Egyptian god of wisdom, magic and writing – is the school mascot and official bird of the university to which I had been accepted. I had seen a few ibis’s around, but I had never seen one that close up, ever. Nor had I ever seen one land on the hood of a car in traffic. That was my sign! That’s the way I read it. God was telling me, “Yes, I’m sure – poetry is the path you are meant to take at this moment in your life. The coin did not lie.”

When I got to the university and went in to meet with the new director, who was a very friendly woman, she asked me, “So how did you finally decide?” I was hesitant to tell her – she was going to think I was insane. Maybe she would wish she hadn’t accepted me at all. But I wasn’t going to lie, I wasn’t going to say that “I just knew” that poetry was for me – I didn’t! At this point I was going on blind faith – trusting in the Powers that Be. So I told her. And when I had finished relating my tale, first of the coin and then of the ibis, she began to laugh out loud. She laughed very hard, almost hysterically. In fact, she laughed so hard that it rather scared me. Finally, when she got herself under control again, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you; I’m just laughing because now I understand why, as soon as I picked up your application, I was drawn to it…even before I read your writing sample. We are kindred spirits!” It turned out that she was a poet herself, so aside from being the director of the department, she would be the professor whom I would be working with most closely. She began to tell me, at that point, of many things that greatly surprised me: her interest in magic and witchcraft (although she did not like the term “witch” at all, as it held such negative connotations and was often misused by society), her experience in reading Tarot cards, her explorations into astrology…the list went on and on. I later learned that she had even used our astrological charts in making the final decisions when she cast her vote as to who to accept into the program. Not that some students were bound to succeed, and others fail, but that she was looking for a balance between the students that would enter as a group that year – earth, water, fire, air.

It turned out that, over time, I learned much more form her than I had bargained for. I learned the art of writing poetry, to be sure, but I also learned many things that since have prevailed to shape and form my world view as a whole. It was as it was meant to be – the coin did not lie. Because I gave my trust wholly unto God in that moment when otherwise I could have stood frozen, paralyzed, and let a great opportunity pass me by, I found myself precisely where I was meant to be, at precisely the right moment in time. I not only benefitted in getting a wonderful education in the field of writing poetry; I crossed paths with and had a chance to closely interact with a woman whose influence and wisdom greatly changed my life.

So, as Paulo says, when a decision must be made, make it! Don’t just stand there paralyzed. Call the decision, and if you absolutely can’t decide, call upon Divine Intervention. But whatever you do, make the decision and stick with it – trust! Trust that, however you arrived at it, the path you will find yourself on is the right one for you at this moment in time.

Much Love,
Savita

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“Il est en moi un ami qui me console chaque fois que les maux m’accablent et que les malheurs m’affligent. Celui qui n’eprouve pas d’amitie envers lui-meme est un ennemi public et celui qui ne trouve pas de confident en lui-meme mourra de desespoir.” K. Gibran

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