Question the Universe

I used to have great faith in the powers of the universe. I’m not religious and never have been, so I don’t put my faith in god, and I don’t walk around thanking the Goddess for everything. Not out loud, anyway. So, it was all about the universe for me back then.

Now, I think the phrase is grossly overused. Every other person I bump into on Facebook thanks for universe for one thing or another. I’ve noticed the phrase is also used a lot by younger people, people with few real problems, and people who know they’ll have enough money for the rent because they have little responsibility and plenty of excess cash.  These people also see magic in everything. Seeing magic isn’t a bad thing, but in all things? Granted, I acknowledge magic in many things. I know that coincidences are rarely coincidences, and I believe in animal symbols and synchronicity.  I even believe in magic. I just don’t see it absolutely everywhere.

That used to be me. It was easy to see magic everywhere from my office in downtown San Francisco. I mean, the view there was spectacular. It was easy to acknowledge the power of the universe through the lens of $100K plus per year. Now, I have a non-profit job that I love.  I march to work in a baseball cap and t-shirt with my favorite comic book character on it, size large since I've lost over a hundred pounds, and the view sees me much happier. It might be easier to see through a $100K per year lens, but it doesn't make me as happy as this does, highlighting the enormous difference between "easy" and "happy".

My past certainty is replaced by unanswered questions, lots of unanswered questions. Like, why is it possible for bacteria to take down a robust 60 year old woman? Why is it so hard for me to find a well-paying job that has benefits?  Why is Daizy peeing in the bedroom upstairs at night all of a sudden instead of outside like she has without fail for the last 7 years?  Why is good fortune often accompanied by equally bad fortune, as if some kind of balance must be maintained, and how does one enjoy that good fortune without guilt?

Truthfully, I spend considerable time feeling tossed about like a leaf in the wind.  I always try to see the bright side of things because most of the time I have no idea how things work.  I can’t simply throw a blanket explanation on it.  Like, I don’t know for certain if we pick our lifetime before we’re born, and I don’t know that we all travel in soul groups. I can’t say with certainty that bad things happen to us so our souls can learn some specific lesson from it.  I like to believe there is a bigger picture because I don’t believe anything out of a book or religion without question, and because the alternative, the possibility that there is no purpose to life and our experiences at all, is simply to grim an alternative to entertain.

I do believe in a higher power.  It doesn't matter to me if it’s God or Goddess or the universe. What matters is the knowledge that God/Goddess helps those who help themselves.  Certainly, it’s the higher power that can deal you an Ace over a Queen in Black Jack.  But you have to understand what’s in your hand and take the initiative to ask for a card.

I guess what I’m saying is that at almost 50, I see less and less of those magic moments.  And when I do, I know they happen because I helped make them happen.

Donna L. Faber
April 5, 2013

Change is like Puppy Poop

I woke up to the world about fifteen years ago and stopped reacting and began responding instead.  Suddenly, my heart was plugged in where once it was held back for safe keeping.  It was a primarily spiritual awakening, but it was emotional, too, as I’m convinced that our spiritual and emotional bodies are intrinsically linked.  I began to notice the repeated presence of certain animals almost immediately and gradually I realized each had symbolic and personal meaning.

We had a macaw from 2002 to 2005. He was a beautiful bird, had lots of personality and was very deep emotionally. He was also an intense task master who demanded my full attention. When I strayed, he bit me. Have you ever been bitten by a macaw?  It’s extremely painful.  His name was General, and he was one of my greatest teachers.  From then on, I saw birds everywhere. 

Wild parrots, a sign of the Goddess, are all over San Francisco.  I bumped into them frequently near the Embarcaderos where they took over a local park and on Dolores Street where they’d invaded palm trees. They were all over Connecticut, too, nesting in telephone poles and causing all sorts of trouble.   Hawks frequently circle the mountains near our home, and I can hear them vocalizing when I walk the dogs.  Great Blue Herons have been a personal spiritual signpost since I saw my first in the year 2000.  They affirm I am right where I should be.   While we lived in Connecticut, I worked on an enormous 1,500 person pharmaceutical campus in Wallingford, and every day on the way in, a Great Blue heron stood in the pond assuring me that even though I didn’t like being there, I was there for a reason.  Here, I was gifted with very special time with my grandmother.  Symbolically, birds are a sign of the intellect or thoughts, and they remind us to be watchful, particularly hawks with their visual acuity.  I believe they want to put us in touch with our blessings.

Dogs, on the other hand, are all feeling.  They understand the world through their nose, but they feel and communicate with their heart.  Jack, our Golden Retriever, was a very direct communicator, and when he needed to go out for a walk, he made direct eye contact with me and wouldn’t let up until I put my shoes on.  Daizy, our Boston Terrier, is quite cerebral, and when she wants something, like more food, she points to it with her nose. Of course, we saw the depth of her heart when she grieved over losing Jack, who recently passed away.  Teddy, the new puppy, is learning very quickly and uses his eyes, nose, paws, voice, and other bodily functions to communicate his needs quite effectively. He’s got all bases covered. 

A few night ago, as we drove homeward on highway 101 down the hill into Pacifica, I saw a coyote.  It was standing atop a bluff silhouetted by the dusk sky.  I hear plenty of coyotes singing at night, but I’ve never seen one. This was clear as day, however, and it caught my eye immediately.

The coyote is considered a trickster by native americans. He reminds us to tackle life’s challenges with a sense of humor, much like the Devil card in the tarot’s major arcana.  Some believe he brings shifts of balance and consequently an ending somewhere, representing the natural cycle of life and death.

The next morning, my grandmother passed away in her sleep.  In the 10 years she was in convalescent care, she fought raging UTI infections and sepsis, hallucinations brought on by powerful antibiotics, and increasingly intense dementia.  She’d returned from death’s door more times than I can count, but she left this world with little fanfare or drama. Her heart simply stopped as she slept, and she departed quietly and peacefully in the night.  Thelma’s death wasn’t unexpected, but it shifts the balance in my life a number of ways by closing the door on the past, yet urging me to remember how she helped me when I was a child. It puts me poignantly in touch with my gratitude. 

Thelma’s obituary was posted on line and whoever wrote it rendered her grandchildren (my brothers and I) anonymous despite our having played a major role in her later life.  There is a lot of water under that bridge. Floods. I found this incredibly irritating and most hurtful, and I started to get hung up on it.

While walking the dogs yesterday, I noticed two Red Tailed Hawks riding the drafts together and singing songs of companionship with screeches and chirps. They were beautiful.  Then, I lowered my head just in time to see a monarch butterfly cross in front of me.  When I looked up again, there were four hawks instead of just two, and they were singing and playing in pairs.  It was breathtaking and gave me pause. 

Like the coyote, the butterfly’s message is about evolution and change.  While they are beautiful, they pass through an entire lifecycle very quickly, embodying the ability to navigate change successfully.  In fact, change happens whether we want it to or not. It is best to roll with it, lest it roll right over us.  The hawks remind me to remain focused on what makes me happy, but not to the detriment of my responsibilities.  There is always the need to balance economics with creativity, which was something my grandmother was good at in her day, and something I struggle with currently.

So, what’s the short version here?  First, change, like puppy poop in the house, happens.  Accept it.  If you don’t watch for it, you’ll step in it.  If you do, don’t dwell on it, just deal with it.  Like puppies that get into everything, blessings are everywhere, but if your heart isn’t open, you’ll miss them.  We may not get what we want in life, but we’ll get what we need. This requires faith, which is another good reason to keep your heart open.  Life is a gift, and our time here is limited.  But, like the hawks and the butterfly, perhaps if we observe change, our blessings will double.

Eyes open.

Heart open.

Faith.

It’s all good.

Thinking About Jen

When Jen was a baby, each time she cried, something cut off her oxygen supply until she choked. Nobody knew what was happening. It was her grandmother that figured it out, and so she had surgery to move the main blood vessel that was wrapped a-typically around her larynx. This experience was telling, really, as to the challenged life my friend, Jen McGrorey, would lead.

I’ve known Jen since the mid-90’s. I interviewed her at PwC before she was hired. We were all still in the Bank of America Building then, and I had that office in the back of Word Processing. It was before Leslie’s Mom passed away in 1995. Back then, Jen was a short little 4x4, as chubby as she was tall. She smoked like a chimney, always had her face in a book, surrounded herself with cool comic book toys, and wielded that acerbic sense of humor like a weapon. She always seemed to be in my orbit, and I in hers.

In 1996, when I was pregnant with Elizabeth, Jen and her husband were trying to get pregnant, too. Oddly, it wasn’t easy for either of us. I went through a year of fertility treatment, as did she. The day Leslie and I went for our ultrasound to hear we had a girl on the way, I didn’t know it, but Jenny was in the other room at the very same time in the very same department of the very same hospital in San Francisco. It was an experience she described to me on more than one occasion. She said she was so happy for us. Jen was not pregnant, and in fact, later on had an ectopic pregnancy that ruptured and ruined her chances of having another baby. She cherished her first son, Anthony. Jen was always in pain even then, but you’d never know it. She had a plate in her neck, was severely asthmatic, diabetic, and at one point walking down the street in San Francisco, fell through a grate in the sidewalk and did severe damage to her right leg.

It was one thing after another for what seemed like her entire life.

When Jen was initially diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and treated, she fell off the map at work into 6 months of leave. The intense chemotherapy at it’s worst almost killed her and then forced her into early onset menopause. She emerged from that experience with severe depression. She used to visit me in my office a few times a week to share her feelings. One day she told me she and her husband drove by a cemetery and she found herself wishing she were in it. She and I navigated our way through that predicament together and she got the help she needed to keep on keeping on. The good news is that her lymphoma went into remission and, over time, she felt better.

When my family and I decided to leave California and move to Connecticut, the hardest part was telling Jen. At that point, she had visited Ammachi in San Ramon once, and discovered her love of the Divine Mother. For those of you who don’t know, Ammachi is a living Hindu saint, also called The Hugging Saint, and is considered a living incarnation of the divine mother by her “children”. I’ve been to see Ammachi many times, and have experienced her hug, and can testify that it is a profound spiritual experience. As Jen struggled with her recovery, however, she projected much of her need for the goddess on to me. This was something I was acutely aware and very respectful of. In fact, it was something I’d done years ago to another friend with disastrous results. It was an immense responsibility true, but I understood the delicacy of it. Telling Jen we were leaving was difficult, but we kept in very close contact over the phone and through email.

I was in close contact with Jen when she made the decision to have gastric by-pass surgery. We spent hours on the phone talking about her difficulties at work. In fact, it was shortly after I left PwC that I understood the firm announced a(nother) series of layoffs in administration, specifically the department Jen worked in, and then ironically, only let Jen go.

Just when her insurance costs reached an all time high.

Thereafter, Jen discovered she needed a full hysterectomy. At least I think that’s how the timeline went. It is hard to tell what happened when. The economy was descending into the toilet at the same time the real estate market was crashing, and my family and I were miserable in Connecticut, but Jen had bigger problems. She’d been layed off from work, was a huge insurance risk, and had endured a series of major surgeries in a short time period.

In 2008, Jen’s lymphoma re-emerged and she made the decision to undergo bone marrow and stem cell transplantation (read more at this link). It was a high risk procedure at UCSF that would take almost a year, eradicate her immune system, and hopefully jump start it again. It wasn’t the needles that worried Jen the most, almost she despised them, and it wasn’t the pain. She hated the thought of being isolated. At one point, she would have no immunities and would be unable to interact with other people. They talked about keeping her in the hospital, but through the process, she was able to go home, where her dogs waited mournfully for her. She lost all her hair, again, was sick and weak, again, but in the end, the non-Hodgkin’s went back into remission.

About a year ago, Elizabeth, Leslie and I met Jen at The Olive Garden. Parking was easy, which meant Jen didn’t have to walk far, and there was a room in the back where we could eat without being part of a crowd. I hadn’t seen Jen in over a year, and she looked like a different person. She was so tiny, and with no facial hair, she looked new born. She seemed chilly the whole time, too. She only ate a tiny bit, which was all she could ever eat. Less than twenty minutes into lunch, she had Leslie laughing so hard I thought she would pee right there in the chair. And she and Elizabeth were deeply into analyzing her iPhone, which Elizabeth drooled over with no inhibition.

Jen is dying.

About six months ago, Jen’s immune system failed. The transplanted marrow stopped working. Shortly thereafter, she developed a fungal infection in the lungs, part of chronic lung damage caused by intensive chemo. She was in and out of the hospital once per month from July 2009 forward. Each time she was admitted, she stayed a little longer and got a little weaker. The last time she went in, after contracting H1N1, they kept her in pulmonary ICU. That was over a month ago.

About a week and a half ago, her son called me. It was Wednesday. Jen suddenly had to be intubated. The inside of her lungs had become like broken glass, and only the tiniest portion of one lung was working. She wasn’t oxygenating. The doctor’s sought a last ditch effort at healing, and to do it she needed to be fully sedated. The last thing Jen wanted to see before she went under was the ultrasound picture of her grandbaby, Anthony’s unborn child, which was taken just the day before.

Leslie, Elizabeth and I went to see Jen that evening. Her family was there, all of them. Her husband, tired and sad, never left her bedside and kept stroking her forehead. Her mother seemed heartbroken. It was so poignant knowing that her mother watched her beloved child fade from this world; yet at the same time, there was a brand new baby being created in the womb of Anthony’s wife. The circle of life was right there, right in my face, and it was dizzying.

My relationship with Jen was much like a mentorship, but through it she was ever a good friend. She supported my art, even when I was squeamish about launching it. She always asked how my family was, and never forgot birthdays. You would think that after all she had suffered, she would have every excuse to be bitter, yet she never was. She and I are both daughters of the Goddess, and share a deep love of the Divine Mother. When Jen went to see Ammachi, however, I don’t think she got the answer she needed. She asked why? Why the cancer? Why me? I don’t know that Jen had a chance to come to terms with having a chronic illness before she was sedated, either.

Watching Jen there in the hospital bed, on the precipice of eternity, disturbs me. I know she signed up for the treatment she endured, and I know she was afraid to die, but I have a hard time seeing the humanity in sedation and intubation for what seems like experimental purposes. Her family has been on an emotional roller coaster, a death watch, for over a week. I can only imagine how exhausted they must feel, even though Leslie and I went through a bit of it ourselves when her mother died in 1995, and even though I know it’s the right thing to do. Then again, if I ever have cancer, wouldn’t I be thankful for that kind of courage should it benefit my circumstances?

I am a daughter of the Goddess. That is where the heart of my spirituality lies. I believe in reincarnation, as well. There are some that believe we actually pick our lives to learn certain karmic lessons. That rings true to me, but I can’t help but wonder what soul would willingly pick a lifetime of suffering, the kind of life that Jen lives with courage and determination. Indeed, where there is faith in our lives, suffering brings us closer to God. But still … no matter what the reason, or what the faith, it is difficult to watch Jen laying there in the hospital bed with the inevitable end of her suffering drawn out for any reason.

Today Jen’s family met with the doctors. They tried their last ditch treatments this week and have nothing left to do. Jen remains intubated and sedated, but her blood pressure is falling. She has perhaps days to live before crossing over.

So much of this leaves me with unanswered questions, but I do know this: When Jen dies, she will pass into the warmest embrace ever. The embrace of the Divine Mother who loves her unconditionally, unfailingly, and forever and who will bear her aloft to the next adventure whatever and wherever that is.

Perhaps she will watch over us all …

… an angel, at long last.

Go with the Goddess, my dear friend.

I will miss you when you’re gone.

FROM OUR WORKSHOP: Kali Ma

Click on the image to get a closer look.

Kali Ma © September 19, 2009 by Donna L. Faber (all rights reserved) is part of my series on divinity. It is done on Strathmore Bristol 300 Series Vellum with Staedler pigment liner pens, Prismacolor premiere markers, and good old fashioned Crayola Pip-Squeaks borrowed from my daughter. She’s been cut out and will be mounted on a colorful background and then framed.

This piece has been waiting to emerge since before we moved out of our rental.

Kali, also known as Kalika, is a Hindu goddess associated with eternal energy. Despite Her fierce appearance and the symbolic imagery provoked by the items She holds and surrounds Herself with (each of which has a specific meaning), Kali is considered a benevolent Mother Goddess whose greatest wish is to see her children freed from their delusions (the way we lie to ourselves). The manners in which She frees us be may the cause of some debate, as Her methods are often intense and shocking; it is Kali Ma’s blood red-rimmed eyes we see piercing the all-consuming blackness of our darkest hours. She can be perceived as terrifying or loving, which depends on our understanding of Her role in our lives. When we experience spiritual or emotional blockage and Durga, Saraswati, Shiva and Lord Krishna turn their backs on us, it is Kali who steps up to plate. In Her inimitable way, She blasts the blockage right out of our systems.

And yes, sometimes it is quite uncomfortable.

Remember, the Goddess takes many forms so that Her children may find one they can relate to.

The last few months have been crazy for my family and I. We’ve dealt with various bits of economic and real estate uncertainty, including merger related weirdness at work that had me spinning more than I thought. I finally feel like I’m settling down, feeling at home in the new place, and less threatened at work. Doing this piece was like a meditation to me, helping me get centered to better understand my priorities and where my focus should be. Kali Ma helped clear my emotional clutter.

È lo scopo del Kali nella nostra vita.

Don’t let Kali Ma scare you.

I hope you enjoy this piece.

Love,
D~

Amma 2009: Part 1

Affirmations

I visited with my Eternal Mother several weeks ago for three wonderful days under a spectacular Northern California sun. It is Spring, and a time for new awakenings, budding ideas, growth, and expansive gestures. Things once buried, our “nuts” so to speak, are now recovered and urged to grow to potential. That sun has burned me in the past, scorched me readily, firing away karmic layer after layer, along with layers of skin, leaving me bright red and sore for days after. This time the burn was minimal and the karmic reconstruction not outwardly obvious. I also had enough sense to wear a hat.

It’s been five long years since I’ve spent any time greater than a half day with Amma. The year 2005 was a major turning point in my spirituality and emotional healing, as well as a wonderful visit, full of lessons in self-worth and confidence. An introductory focus on sloughing off dead baggage from the past like an unnecessary layer of skin was immediately followed by the unveiling of new horizons that would continue taking shape and form as they were affirmed, and continue to be affirmed, in real time. In 2006, we were moving from California to Connecticut and missed Amma, literally, on both ends of the United States. The years 2007 and 2008 were only one half day visits each in New York City. There were moments in that lovely church in Manhattan when she smiled at me, and I know she recognized me. “You need a good job,” she said, “I will help you,” and I was secretly relieved she didn’t forget me. I didn’t see Ammachi at all when I was on the East Coast. My spiritual tanks were drained in such a way that makes me believe our time in Connecticut wasn’t just about emotional baggage, or spending time with my grandmother. It was also about relying on one’s inner resources.

The weeks prior to this visit were heavy with animal symbolism. A tarot card reading I received from intuitive web-friend, Avia Venifica, highlighted this to me in succinct ways that continue to resonate even now. This makes sense as symbolism is Avia’s forte’. Other symbolic markers came up between Avia and I confirming she was a link in Mother’s chain this time around. You can read more on my card reading here. However, squirrel symbolism is highlighted first and foremost, particularly at spring time, encouraging me to recover those nuts I’ve put aside to focus on my new job.

In real time, we’ve had one little nut hoarder scurrying industriously around our yard since we’ve moved in here, leaving little holes dug up here and there. It had a run in with our Boston Terrier, Daizy, one evening a few weeks ago that brought Elizabeth into the house huffing and puffing about a doggie/squirrel stand off at the base of the palm tree, and did I know that squirrels can growl? Despite that direct message, it never occurred to me to think about what it was saying. Not until now, that is. We finally named the squirrel Nutmeg, and you might be interested to know that Nutmeg has recently found a companion. Now there are two of them racing around like Red Bull lunatics.

But this particular nut wasn’t just waiting to be taken out. It was waiting to be turned out! And riding the wave of Amma’s abundant energy, I launched my artwork publicly on Cafepress and RedBubble. This was a leap of my faith for me, and an indication that my confidence continues to develop. I have my friends to thank for encouraging and embracing this.

Amma knows how much I need to be needed, and like she did in the 2005 program, she connected me immediately with the local group of volunteers, and put me to work. First, it was in a small poster making party, at an ashram in San Francisco, which was like stepping back into the 70’s when my Aunt Edwina lived in an ashram in New Haven. We sat there, in the main room, folding and folding and talking. There was another devotee with us, a woman that I’ve seen in many photographs, and who is frequently pictured following Amma closely. I’ve seen her in programs crying many tears, as well. She stood out to me then, but on this day something was different. In the course of conversation, she described taking her first trip to India recently. I think perhaps the trip changed her. She was confident, purposeful, and navigating around people she didn’t know with relative ease. I believe that for some of Amma’s children, navigating around strangers is most challenging due to sensitivities and empathies. I didn’t say anything, but the transformation was notable. The message I received was notable, as well, yanking the knowledge from a generalized intellectual awareness and plopping it right down into personal acknowledgement. We are all God’s children. The Divine Mother considers each and every one of us her babies. And when She sees fit, She knows what cosmic carrot to dangle before our hungry eyes. She knows what motivation will bring us along the path to our personal evolution. She did it to me a few years ago and in a way that is still working it’s magic. Now I understand that devotion or bhakti can change even the meekest or angriest of Amma’s babies. Bhakti holds the power to change the universe.

Amma’s divine love is life changing, true, but the purposeful and anticipatory love of her devotees is an amazing and palpable thing. Their focus is so intense, no matter how attached you may or may not be to Her, it is hard not to get caught up in it. One never knows what they do outside of their work for Amma either. Some of them are householders, Indian families who live in the West, but are devout Hindu’s who give both their time and money from the heart. Others are Western devotees whose lives, jobs or careers provide them with the funding they need to follow Amma from one end of creation to the next. Given the way I feel when She’s around, I can’t say that I begrudge them that opportunity, although at this time I don’t feel the need to physically follow myself. I often wonder if doing so is in my future. Some Western devotees wear traditional Indian attire, and are immersed in the Hindu faith. I noticed people from Ammachi’s camp, as well, wondering what all the hub bub is about. Others, people who simply saw a poster and grew intrigued, are drawn to Her for inexplicable reasons. When everyone is together, we’re all one group of Her children, and to my surprise, I am at ease with them.

In anticipation of these visits, there are different things going on in my head. Conscious worries are thought bubbles you might picture in the forefront of my cranium. In the rear, are the less conscious thoughts I touch upon now and again, things I don’t think about too much, but which are present none the less. There are visits when I have something quite specific on my mind; for example, 2007 in Manhattan when I needed a job. But at other visits, like this one, my immediate needs and those of my family are well met, and I’m without worry. I look forward to being with my mother until my heart is fully bloomed like a lotus flower, and I’ve achieved a state of complete childlike openness. Only then, when my defenses are completely down, am I truly in the moment and being myself for myself. Then, the pure love of Mother’s divine energy permeates every fiber, every cell, of my being, and whatever cellular and karmic restructure She wills can occur.

The tightest group of Amma’s volunteers are all warm and welcoming people who asked Leslie and I to the host’s home to receive Her. I was so excited about it! Amma ran so late, Leslie and I had to leave to get Elizabeth at school. In the past, I’ve been in conflict between the love and needs of my family, versus my desire put everything, even them on hold, when Amma is in town. This trip highlighted how I’ve grown to better understand this dynamic, which is in essence an extension of understanding my boundaries at work and home, as well, all most pertinent lessons. So, when dealing with the volunteers, who tried to pull me in deeply because I am a very organized and task oriented person, I heeded my boundaries, to successfully balance the love of my spiritual mother with that of my family. Having to leave early, although disappointing, was part of that lesson.

Finally, after all the anticipation and preparation, I saw Amma as she arrived at the church in Palo Alto for the first night’s program. She was positively radiant in a pink sari as she reflected back the love of her children who worked so hard to make her visit possible. The color of Ma’s sari is always significant to me. At times it offers a hint to Her mood. Will she be the warm and understanding mother, full of cookies and acknowledgement? Or will she be the stern and serious mother, with intense and at times frightening expectations and little time for goofing around. I’ve seen both. She was draped in pink, which, like the color of rose quartz, is indicative of love and fertility, all appropriate to Spring. Fertility isn’t just about making babies. It frequently refers to a ripening of purpose, activity, creativity or ideas, as well as countless other circumstances which quicken in manifestation.

Her sari couldn’t be more appropriate, I thought standing there watching Her, and feeling wonderful. She is the embodiment of Spring time, as well as the living incarnation of the Goddess.

Thus far, and even though I’d seen Her for only a moment, Amma’s visit was an affirmation. Between the spring time symbolism, the squirrels and the nuts, I heard Her loud and clear. I had an entire day of individual blessings ahead of me and then the homa, or vedic fire ceremony, which is one of my favorite parts. What I heard the loudest, however, even beyond my own persona lessons, was that in Her eyes, we are all the same. Beneath the often disruptive layers of our personality, that which is simply our nature, we are all Her children. And in that, we are worthy of love.

Each and every one of us is a keeper of the most precious god/goddess force, which resides, at times forgotten, in our hearts.

Note: The photograph above is owned by SMVA Trust.