Do you yearn for peace?

“Let there be peace on earth,

And let it begin with me.

Let there be peace on earth,

The peace that was meant to be.

With God as our Father,

Brothers all are we.

Let me walk with my brother

In perfect harmony.

Let peace begin with me,

Let this be the moment now.

With every breath I take,

Let this be my solemn vow:

To take each moment,

and live each moment

In peace eternally.

Let there be peace on earth,

And let it begin with me.” (Jill Jackson-Miller and Sy Miller, 1955).


This is my solemn vow. It won’t be perfect, but it will be my committed intention. When I am cranky and argumentative and annoyed, I pledge to start over because I yearn for peace.

Love, Susan


January 19, 2019 at 1:03 PM Leave a comment


David Meffan Rau was a concrete-thinker and a rule-follower. In fact, he was such a rule-follower that once, when some young cop in Leithsville, Pennsylvania gave him a speeding ticket, he called his neighbor and friend, a county sheriff, to question how the young cop had decided he was speeding and if there was anything to be done except pay the fine. When told about the speeding ticket, the neighbor/sheriff burst out laughing.

Dave Rau had never broken a law in his life, not a big law, and not a little law, not a law where he might get caught or a law where it was totally unlikely that he would be found out. Just watch him mow grass sometime, and you’d see that not a corner was cut, not a blade missed, and the lines were straight and true.

The neighbor/sheriff called the Leithsville cop and laughed at him, harassed him, and told him he had targeted the wrong guy this time. Dave Rau had never gone over the speed limit and there were thirty people who would show up in court, put their hands on a Bible, and say so. (Most of the thirty people could testify to this with clarity and truth, because they had been forced to follow him over the country roads and through the school zones — sometimes he’d have a whole caravan piled up behind him.) The speeding ticket disappeared.

Such was the reputation of Dave Rau, and in the fifty-four years I knew him he never vered from his dead center, tried and true, straight and narrow path.

His mother and unborn sibling died in childbirth when he was two. His mother had been the fourth of seven girls in the Meffan family. Six aunts gathered closely to assuage their sorrow by caring for Lottie’s beautiful little blonde boy with the sparkling blue eyes and the sunny disposition. Dave’s sister, who was three years older, was a dark, cranky child.

When the proverbial step-mother arrived on the scene, a second sister was born. Neither Dave’s older sister nor his younger sister could abide the step-mother, Animosity, control battles, shouting matches ensued among the three women. Dave learned some disarming charm, some distracting humor, and various peace-making skills.

The major recipient of this well-honed charm was a quiet little blonde five years younger than he. He saw her every Sunday and many other times as well. They smiled at each other. The naughtiest thing she ever did in her life, she did to him. He drove an hour or more to take her out on a date, and one night when he went home, she and her college roommate went out with couple fraternity boys. She confessed. He forgave. He did tease her unmercifully all her life, though, that he preferred redheads. She just laughed. She knew who he’d chosen.

He was a Capricorn and fit the stereotypes. Capricorns are supposed to be good with money. He had a unique double method for handling money. First, he worked. He had his day job, and he had every other job he could find. He was the custodian for the school, cleaning the halls, the desks and the toilets all year long. Spring, summer and fall he kept the school grounds and the playgrounds and the ball fields meticulously neat. All winter the snow was shoveled and plowed.

He also worked on two farms, kept the township books, cleaned the township office, and cared for people’s homes when they were gone. He had a big stack of keys in the glove compartment of his blue 54 Chevy truck. The grass, snow and cleaning equipment rode in the back.  And these were just the paid jobs. The volunteer lists, and the charities to whom he pledged, were even longer. But step one in Dave Rau’s money management system was: work.

The second part of the money brilliance was deceptively simple. He kept track of every penny. He also, literally saved pennies in big (empty) wine jugs. The jugs would fill; he’d cash them in; he’d start over. But every time his wife returned from shopping, she handed him the receipt. All he ever said was, “Thank you.” He didn’t care how much she spent or what she spent it on. Her spending was never criticized. (He could always get another job.) But he knew where every cent they earned came from and where every cent they earned went.

The stories about him are as endless as the stories he told after every family dinner. He was written up in the newspaper once because when some schlep dumped a trash bag full of used diapers along the road, it was Dave Rau who stopped the blue truck, got out a trash bag, and cleaned up all the disgusting diapers.

I never heard him do it, but I imagine he would have summed up his life philosophy rather simply: Do the next right thing; Never give up; and Never stop smiling.

Today is his birthday. He was born 108 years ago in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania and died in neighboring Allentown twenty years ago, having lived seventy-five years of his life in his beloved village of Durham, Pennsylvania. He was an accountant for Bethlehem Steel and was probably well pleased that he was born in 1911 and died in 1999 at the age of 88. Nice neat numbers. He would have liked that.

I have a small plaque in my bedroom which says: “The greatest gift of all is loving parents.”

Happy birthday to my dear Daddy.

Love to each of you on this cold January Saturday as we trudge along, determined to do the next right thing, never give up, and keep on smiling, Susan

January 12, 2019 at 8:44 AM Leave a comment

Epiphany – January 6, 2019

Tomorrow is the Christian Feast of Epiphany. We’ve totally lost the “feast” part, and I think if I asked 100 people, I’d be lucky to find ten who have any idea what “epiphany” is or means. Ever since I learned, an embarrassingly few years ago, Epiphany has become one of my favorite days of the year. It is the day on which we celebrate the Wise Men finding the baby, Jesus, and delivering their gold, frankincense and myrrh. (Thank heaven for spell check. I couldn’t spell frankincense or myrrh — not words I use often!)

We also say the word “epiphany” in a secular way to mean a moment of awareness, a sudden realization, an intuitive seeing or knowing. An epiphany, in secular language, is an “Ah-hah” moment. In spiritual language, an epiphany would be a moment when we become aware of the sacred divinity of life. Many of us have had epiphanies at moments of birth or death — holding a new baby or watching a parent’s soul float out of the room. Birth and death are hard things to take credit for ourselves. They are moments in life when we often bow to a greater Source and Wisdom than our own.

The “secret” of epiphanies is that they leave us changed. If they don’t leave us changed, they aren’t epiphanies. I have never heard this explained so well as in the following poem by T.S. Eliot and in Henry Van Dyke’s story, The Fourth Magi. The Wise Men (the Magi) were changed after they saw Jesus. Richard Rohr would say that if we are participating in a religion which does not change us, we should find a new religion. A religion without epiphanies is useless and an spiritual impostor.

Another thing about Epiphany which I love is that I really identify with the Wise Men — in this way!!!!! I think everyone thought they were crazy. They set off on camels on a long journey with no known destination to find a baby they heard about by reading the stars. Epiphany always gives me courage and strength, because I think our own “truths,” our own epiphanies, come the same way. They are illogical, unexpected, inexplicable, unfathomable . . . kind of crazy. Yet somehow we know what we know. And when we know what we know, in the depths of our hearts and souls, we’ve experienced Epiphany.

I know I am grateful for each of you. I’m glad we’re entering 2019 together. Love, Susan

The Journey Of The Magi by T.S. Eliot

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

(The therapist in me has to make certain anyone reading this understands that T.S. Eliot’s use of the words “birth” and “death” are intended as metaphors and not to be taken in a literal sense. As when we dream of death or birth, these words are meant to represent beginnings and endings in our life story. The magi saw the birth of Jesus as a new beginning. They saw the ending of their old way of life as a metaphorical “death” of that which no longer fit or felt real and true. T.S. Eliot is not talking about a physical dying. He is talking about an Epiphany which leads to change and ends a chapter. Palmer Parker, in his new book On The Brink of Everything, suggests (among other things) these two questions? What do I want to let go of and what do I want to give myself to? How can we revitalize our lives and ourselves by cleaning out what no longer serves us and ushering in the fresh, challenging, vital, and overflowing. I believe that the Epiphanies come to those with open eyes and receptive hearts. May 2019 be full of new beginnings and fresh starts for each of you!)

January 5, 2019 at 9:23 AM 1 comment

Every New Year We Start Over

I hope you feel like I do, that every year I get to start over. Our lives are divided into four general categories: physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual. I wondered if you would join me in reviewing this past year in each category and choosing a few ways in which in 2019 we’d like to change our focus and priorities for each of the four categories? You in? I’ll start (to give an example). I have been brutally, transparently honest because without self-honesty we never get out of the starting gate.

2018: Physically: My big accomplishment happened late in the year when I had a sleep study and the sleep specialist told me that I would be able to keep my A-Fib under control if I started using a C-Pap (breathing machine). Apparently, when sleeping, I stop breathing about 16 times an hour, and this is putting a lot of stress on my heart. I have spent the last three weeks trying to adapt and adjust to the mask over my mouth and my nose. It is not an easy switch to sleep encumbered and confined. I am happy to do anything, though, which will keep me out of the hospital with future A-Fib episodes.

2018: Emotionally: I hate living alone. I have been single for nineteen years and it has never become “normal” for me. However, I have tried valiantly to find the positives in single living: no one complains about my cooking; no one tells me what to do, makes me feel guilty if I have a different wish, or coerces me into going, doing, having, being, something I am not. I have gained a great deal of equanimity this year. I still yearn for a partner, but can see that there are advantages of flying solo.

2018: Intellectually: I finished my two year study program with Richard Rohr. I NEVER would have imagined I could read and absorb quantum physics or the complexity of theological arguments and discussions that I have in the past two years. Lovely, in my seventies, to surprise myself.

2018: Spiritually: Because of Richard Rohr and his open, loving, inclusive views, I find myself embracing life and love of all creation in a very different, welcome way. If you do not know of him, please feel free to join me in his audience: He sends a free daily meditation (to over 345,900 seeking souls) which has, no exaggeration, changed my life.

2019: Physically: My fondest wish for this year in my body is to become more mobile. I want to be able to walk further and faster with less stress. I’d like to save my breathlessness for sunsets.

2019: Emotionally: My fondest wish emotionally remains the same as it has been for the last eighteen years. I would love to find a soul-mate partner who will “walk me home” and whom I can “walk home.”

2019: Intellectually: I wish to remain open to the new, the challenging, the wild and free ideas which do not immediately sit well with me but which I need to grow into.

2019: Spiritually: My deepest spiritual desire in 2019 is that I meditate more, pray more, spend more time in the arms of God and in the actions Jesus commanded: Love God and love your neighbor. It is all so simple and so difficult. If we just stop judging both ourselves and others . . . voila!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (At least we have begun.)

We’ll see how we do in 2019, and then we’ll make adjustments in 2020. Every new year is a chance to start over.

My word and focus for the year is: GRATITUDE

Peace and blessings to each of my dear friends and soul sisters and brothers, Susan

Two final thoughts: if you have not seen Barmen Today, the Richard Rohr/James Finley/Cynthia Bourgeault endorsed declaration that seven students from The Living School wrote, please go to to join 8,172 others in reading, signing, sharing.

And finally, from James Finley, the Living School teacher we lovingly call Uncle Jim, a quotation which appeared in this morning’s Richard Rohr meditation:  “You are not what has happened to you. Only Love has the final word in who you are.”

December 29, 2018 at 9:41 AM 1 comment

Christmas Eve in the Emergency Room

I suppose it was the strangest Christmas Eve I ever experienced. It was also a measuring stick for every other Christmas Eve since. In fact, in many ways, that one Christmas Eve in the Emergency Room may have been the time I learned the most about what Christmas can mean if we let ourselves see and feel and experience exactly where we are and who we’re with and why we’re there.

In the usual way things happen, I landed in the emergency room by default. I was an ER volunteer, and that happened in a strange way, too. The day I got divorced and my ex-husband drove off with our three sons, my neighbor, Mary Kay Frey, came over to see me and handed me a smock that said “Volunteer” on it. She informed me I was starting my volunteer career that very evening in the emergency room. She was so wise. She knew I needed to be distracted from my grief of learning the new balance of shared custody. So, off I went to the hospital that Saturday evening and every Saturday after that for four years.

Once in a while I would find myself with a weekend or holiday evening when the boys were gone, and I’d check to see if they needed me at the hospital. They usually did. And so it was with this Christmas Eve when I chose to spend the 3 – 11 shift in a busy emergency department instead of an empty house.

The outstanding memory of that evening was a twenty-one year old who had just gotten out of the service and come home to find his girlfriend had cheated on him. He was so incredibly depressed, he swallowed every pill he could find in an attempt to stop the pain. He needed to have his stomach “pumped.” Unless, he could be persuaded to drink about two gallons of water. Guess who was sent into his room with the water and a bucket?

It took over an hour. No one ever came to check on how we were doing. I didn’t blame them. His slippery slope into a suicide attempt had not included any recent showering, and to this day I have never smelled a human who smelled so foul. But, my empathy kicked in, and I felt more sorry for him, and more determined to save him from having his stomach pumped, than I was disgusted by the odorous job. You can learn an awful lot about a person waiting for them to consume two gallons of water.

By the time he finally threw up, I ran to the bathroom to get the bucket washed out and get back in place for the second act, but, amazingly, he started feeling better and seemed to be done. I went to proudly tell the nurse the mission was accomplished. She said, “Okay. I’ll be right in to check the contents of his stomach.”

I almost threw up then. I sighed, “I threw it all away. Flushed down the toilet.”

She looked at me with such scorn. Who doesn’t know the contents have to be checked to make sure the pills came back up? Um . . .that would have been me.

“Well,” she harrumphed, “take another gallon of water in there, and get him to drink that.”

I am very ashamed to have to admit I lied to that kid. I told him it just wasn’t enough. Probably because he was already feeling better, both pouring out his story to a willing listener and getting rid of the poison in his stomach, he kept drinking. Once we finished that round, the bucket was checked, and then he was allowed to sleep for a while. We closed the door to his room and sprayed the hall with something that also smelled awful but in a different, cleaner way.

Then there was the woman who had a peanut stuck up her nose, and the man with a vacuum cleaner hose firmly impaled over a part of his anatomy. You know what really amazed me about the vacuum cleaner hose? They had seen it before. I, neophyte and innocent newbie, was the only one who found it mind-boggling. Old hat to the emergency room staff.

There were a few really tragic things that happened that night, too. And a few poignant things. I can still see the man who wheeled his wife to the bathroom, lifted her gently from the wheelchair and helped her get situated on the toilet. He closed the door and waited for her. Once again he lifted her as though she were made of porcelain and gently settled her in the chair. He was a mean, cranky man who did not make one friend that night in the ER. But, no one but me watched the compassion and kindness with which he touched his wife. I wondered briefly if she had to be reduced to not being able to use her legs to wring some sweetness from her husband.

Finally, it was eleven and I walked to the garage with a couple of the nurses. We were all exhausted and hungry. No one had gotten supper. We hugged each other, “Merry Christmas,” and got in our cars to go home. When I pulled in the driveway, I saw a plate covered with aluminum foil sitting by the back door. My friend, Nancy Clem, had brought me a half of a Cornish hen, wild rice and cranberry sauce. I believe it was the most generous, unexpected, unsolicited gift I have ever received. I didn’t even warm it up. It warmed me up.

Mrs. Frey did me such a service when she nudged me into becoming an ER volunteer. She kept me from riding the self-pity train, allowed me to learn a great deal about life and death and the thin, fragile line between the two, and gave me a chance to realize that how we wait for Christmas can determine what we believe about Christmas. Waiting for that Christmas in that emergency department and being able to walk out of there, healthy and whole, and go home to find a true Christmas gift, not a sweater or a tricycle or a Kitchenaid mixer, but some thoughtful, nurturing, nourishing bits and bites of loving friendship, now that made one of the messages Jesus came to teach absolutely real: “Love thy neighbor.”

With every Christmas wish that each of us will realize how loved we are and how generous we need to be in sharing that love with whomever is right in front of us at all times.

Love, my friends, Susan


December 22, 2018 at 8:54 AM 1 comment


Have you ever wondered why trauma survivors get more angry over the holidays, anxiety-prone folks get more anxious, and the depressed among us sink even lower? I can tell you exactly why. On any given Tuesday in April or on some random Wednesday in August, our expectations are pretty low and quite realistic. We hope to get through the day without a panic attack, a white rage or thoughts of suicide. If we succeed, we think we’ve had a good day.

Then there are the holidays. “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know.” Well, I don’t know about you, but I can tell you for a fact, the ones I used to know are gone. Or how about, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year?” Families gather under a Christmas tree they cut down in the woods, watching the fire dance in the fireplace, inhaling the enticing scent of Grandma’s pot roast and pumpkin pie. The tree is loaded with presents, the table is set for twenty close, loving relatives, and your heart is happy because you are a treasured member of this devoted clan.

Maybe not so much. Maybe like so many people I know, you are going to order Chinese take-out and watch movies by yourself this Christmas. Or maybe you will have an awkward dinner with people who appear not to like you very much. You feel superfluous and unnecessary to the party. You’re the odd man out. Or, maybe, you and your husband are getting divorced as soon as you conclude the artificial joy for the children. Or, maybe, someone you dearly loved has died in the last year, and the idea of Christmas without that person is unthinkable and unbearably sad.

We have been sold a very bad bill of goods because every song, every story, every movie, every advertisement assures us that everyone who loves each other is together — never mind the children in different states or in hospitals or in jail, or those who simply choose not to have anything to do with us. Where’s the holly and the ivy? Where’s the glad heart? Where’s the Christmas spirit and the holiday happiness?

The bill of goods we’ve been sold fosters discontent because that bill of good is delusional. There is no perfect family gathered around the perfect tree with a houseful of presents — each more perfect than the last — a perfect dinner — perfectly iced sugar cookies — perfect manners — everyone loving and enjoying and celebrating each other because each of them always said the perfect things at the perfect times and in the perfect ways.

You perhaps noticed my overuse of the word PERFECT.

Please think about a fifteen year old who is only married because God told her husband, who knew he wasn’t the father of her child, that he needed to marry her. This unlikely couple is giving birth to a child who came from somewhere — the story is too outlandish to believe — in a barn. How romantic! The animals are watching. I’m sure the barn smells like a barn. Delightfully fragrant. Somehow this terrified (she has to be) fifteen year old girl gives birth to a baby with this virtual stranger her only company and aid. Somehow, it is hard to believe he was too much help. (Those details are skipped over in the story, but for those of us who have given birth, those details are pretty damn significant and hard to imagine enduring in a barn with some guy we hardly knew “helping” us when we were fifteen years old. And, I repeat, the barn smelled bad and there were no nurses and no breathing coaches and no anesthetics and no one to take the baby and check his APGAR score and clean him up and bring him back to place lovingly in our arms.

How did we get SO FAR from the actual story of what happened to our sanitized, sweet, perfect smelling, delightfully safe and loving Christmas? WE WERE SOLD A BILL OF GOODS. Know why? I’m sorry to say . . . for money. What would we buy if our standard for a real Christmas was a stinky barn, the pain of childbirth, the fear of two people who barely knew each other trying to support themselves through what they both felt God was asking of them?

What is required of us today is so minor and inconsequential by comparison, and yet, because of the impossible, money-generated advertising standards — think Balsam Fir trees and Hallmark movies, cards, and decorations — not to mention the new cars tied up with red bows, lists for Santa, the necessity for Christmas cookies — there were a lot of them in the barn — the wrapping paper, the ribbon, the music — rather different from the noises of the cows and the pigs which were maybe not so melodic — really, people. WHAT ARE WE THINKING?????????????????????

What is being asked of us? Only what we are asking of ourselves. Let us get off our perfectionistic, unrealistic, money-generated, ridiculously non-Christian, non-religious, non-spiritual agenda and regain some common sense.

Whatever Christmas means to you, whatever the holidays are to you, whether religious, secular, or none of the above, they are not the Bill of Goods advertisers are hoping we will buy. We do not need to spend a cent this holiday season to celebrate whatever it is we believe the holidays mean. The holidays are free. Inexpensive. Un-decorated. Without presents.

You decide what is important to you. Search your heart. Then start living that.

Peace and love for the enjoyment of a stress free season. The advertisers put it on us, and we can remove it. What we spend, how perfect the decorating, the presents, the meal, the people gathered, it has nothing to do with the meaning of the season.

You determine the meaning. Then, you live it.

I support your new beginning and your new freedom.

Love, Susan


December 15, 2018 at 9:12 AM Leave a comment


It seems everywhere I turn I keep getting messages. The messages are amazingly similar, whether I’m reading some of my favorite spiritual writers, re-visiting my dog-eared poetry books, trying to understand quantum physics and quantum entanglement, or, as in my present interest, listening to a series on “health.” This current series is entitled INTERCONNECTED. That sums up the message I’ve been getting from all around me. The secret, if there is a secret, to health and well-being, is balance, because everything in the world, as well as inside each of us, is INTERCONNECTED.

Let’s take anxiety. Last week, and for years, I’ve been saying anxiety is the disease of fear. That’s the emotional component of anxiety. Just this week someone said to me, “Isn’t all fear ultimately the fear of death?” Yup. That’s what I’ve always learned. Enter the spiritual component of anxiety. Then, as I well know, anxiety also goes hand-in-hand with a great many physical issues, especially related to heart and lungs, like mitral-valve prolapse, as just one example. It’s all inter-related. Physical movement is another component of anxiety. Anxious people who don’t move get increasingly anxious. I know a number of people who exercise to keep their anxiety under control. A hike in the woods is also a spiritual exercise. We’re weaving a web.

One fascinating thing I learned on the INTERCONNECTED series was that moderate exercise is good for your microbiome (gut), but intense exercise isn’t. It’s all about balance. Another interesting piece of information from that series was that if we take wheat out of our diets, we lose 70% of the good bacteria in our gut. And from my sleep specialist doctor, this interesting tidbit: mouthwash does exactly what it says it will do. It destroys all the bacteria in our mouths. This is a good thing, right? Wrong. The bacteria on the backs of our tongues are good bacteria and we need them. We don’t want to destroy them. Bacteria are neither all good or all bad. They have to be kept in balance.

Smoking “pot” is bad, right? Well, maybe. In excess. But cannabis is now being touted as medically necessary and advantageous for not only pain control, which we’ve known for a while, but for actually being able to contain and cure some illnesses. In ancient societies cannabis, or the basis of pot,  is apparently called The Sacred Plant.

More than two thousand years ago Aristotle suggested we all adhere to “The Golden Mean.” Balance. The Golden Mean was also called The Golden Middle Way. This was the desirable middle ground between two extremes, excess and deficiency. Narcissists live in excess.  They believe, “I am the best.” Victims live in deficiency. They believe, “I am the worst, meaningless, without value, insignificant.” Clearly, neither extreme is true. Mentally healthy people live in the Golden Middle Ground. Sometimes I feel like I am the best and sometimes I feel like I am the worst, but the truth always is: I am neither. I am always somewhere in the middle, the beautiful, mentally healthy middle ground.

Who are the people who are neither Republicans nor Democrats? They may be, but are not necessarily, Independents. They are open-minded Democrats and Republicans who can listen to and think about the ideas of the other. They are the people who can believe that smoking pot can be harmful but ingesting cannabis for medical reasons could be wonderfully beneficial. Always, ALWAYS, there is a middle way, a golden path of balance.

Day and night are balanced. At two points in the year they are exactly the same. Most of the year one or the other is predominant. Ultimately, they are unequal day to day but perfectly balanced over the course of time. And so it is with most things we can conceptualize. Good bacteria and bad bacteria need to be in balance to help us be healthy. All good bacteria with no bad bacteria, and we will be unhealthy. All bad bacteria with no good bacteria, and we will be unhealthy. Anything in excess or deficiency, and we will be unhealthy. This is true for physical, mental and spiritual health.

You know people who have never experienced adversity. They are often pompous and entitled. You know people who have only experienced trauma and tribulation. They are likely to remain unempowered victims. We need the good and the bad to survive, to be healthy, to be robust and to thrive.

Back we go again to my favorite Rumi poem” The Guest House.” Welcome everything that comes your way. Each and every experience has been sent as a guest from beyond.

As I so often say, because my friend, Tari, taught me this: THIS IS EARTH SCHOOL. We are here to learn, to grow, to listen and to become wise.

God bless each of us and teach us courage in adversity and humility in prosperity.

Love, blessings, and peace, Susan



December 8, 2018 at 9:22 AM 1 comment

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