InnerPeace News ~ Inner Reflections |
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image by dominiqueallaire.com
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I AM SEED
My life is seed for the world To be scattered how the wind doth blow Painted as light upon the stars of night And set forever aglow Paint with my life Sing with my heart Use all my strength and will In divine time… in loving space … with tender care I go Seeding humanity with my presence Feeding the world with my will Divine intervention comes through me And scatters my words on the hill With the waves of the breeze and the wind in the trees We sing humanity’s new song. |
Spreading my consciousness through all of space
Extending my presence through time Showering Gaia above and within With my perfect essence sublime. Where the seeds land is everywhere Who do they touch but everyone The seeds of a mind aligned with the all Plants fields filled with trees full of flowers of love. The fruit of the flower of love is so sweet And tender and caring and kind. The fruit of the flower nourishes all With nectar from the divine. |
Today marks the time and from here forth we go
Spreading our lives like seed Throughout all of life where struggles and strife Are seen no more in the land, sky or sea. Creative potential explodes in each flower as seeds pass on through the air and what I thought comes out through you with one mind and one heart that is true and loves all of life, not just one or two… and blessed is the world through your love. Mayana 12/17/2016 |
Unify
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The Rupture of the Mother Line and the Cost of Becoming Real
with Bethany Webster
One of the hardest experiences a daughter can have in a mother/daughter relationship is seeing that your mother is unconsciously invested in your smallness. For women in this predicament, it’s truly heart-wrenching to see that, out of her own wounding, the person who gave birth to you unconsciously sees your empowerment as her own loss. Ultimately, it’s not personal but a very real tragedy of our patriarchal culture that tells women they are “less than.”
We all desire to be real, to be seen accurately, to be recognized, and to be loved for who we really are in our full authenticity. This is a human need. The truth is that the process of becoming our real selves involves being messy, big, intense, assertive and complex; the very things patriarchy portrays as unattractive in women.
Historically, our culture has been hostile to the idea of women as true individuals. Read on © Bethany Webster 2014
We all desire to be real, to be seen accurately, to be recognized, and to be loved for who we really are in our full authenticity. This is a human need. The truth is that the process of becoming our real selves involves being messy, big, intense, assertive and complex; the very things patriarchy portrays as unattractive in women.
Historically, our culture has been hostile to the idea of women as true individuals. Read on © Bethany Webster 2014
A white girl's story about racism
One White Girl's Story
One summer day in 1945 when I was six years old, my mother left my sister and me in our car while she went into the grocery store. Now, I have no conscious memory of where I ever heard the word 'nigger.' It was just in the air somewhere. And there were not many black people in Southern California, where we lived at the time.
So here we are in the car and I look out the window where I see a black man peddling by on his bicycle. I stick my head out the window, yell "Hey, nigger" and jump behind the front seat of the car. As I am hiding there, I hear a tap on the rear window. I look up and there is this same bicyclist looking down at me. Very respectfully, he said to me, "Little girl, it's not nigger – n-i-g-g-e-r; it's Negro – N-e-g-r-o." With that he merely got on his bike and rode off.
This man totally changed my life. I got more out of that incident than you would believe a six-year-old could experience. For one thing, I learned that yelling nasty things out of car windows could get me in a lot of trouble. Boy, was I embarrassed. I learned that black people are people, too. I learned that everyone deserves respect no matter what the color of their skin. I was so grateful for the way this man handled what I did when he could have been really mean to me or said nasty things and I would not have blamed him. Whatever prejudice I had at that time disappeared when that man educated me with his kind instruction and treated me with the utmost respect. I wish I could thank him today.
Let's go forward about nine years. My family spent a couple of years living overseas where my dad worked and we returned to the United States in 1953 – just about the time 'colored' television became available. When I was halfway through the 10th grade, we moved to Memphis, Tennessee. At that time, segregation was in effect. I had met some girlfriends and one day we decided to take the city bus downtown. They asked me where I wanted to sit and I said at the back of the bus because that was the most fun place to ride – where the rear tires made the bus ride bumpy and fun. They looked at me like something was wrong with me and said, "Oh, no. We can't sit there. That is where the 'colored' sit." Immediately my mind came up with a picture of a line of colored TVs lined up on the back seat of the bus. I had never before heard the word 'colored' applied to Negroes.
Now, non-prejudiced person that I had become at the age of six, I thought that black people having to sit segregated at the back of the bus was shameful. After the 'colored' TV incident and when I began going to high school in Memphis, I made it a point to ride at the back of the city bus. The white bus drivers never told me I couldn't; although, I did wait to see if they would. In looking back on it, I probably made the black people nervous – a young white teenager with a blonde pony tail sitting in the middle of all the black people. I recall a brief smile now and then; however, I was mostly ignored. The way it was then, my action possibly frightened them. It was during this time that Rosa Parks took center stage and I was very proud of myself for standing up for the rights of other human beings.
Now we come to a more present time and I am 74 years old. With all the history behind me, I have come to certain conclusions regarding the race issue. To begin, when I was little my mother told me that sticks and stones could break my bones but words would never hurt me. Also, being raised in America, I believe in free speech. If someone wants to call someone else a nigger, it is the person who says it that shows disrespect; it certainly doesn't hurt the one to whom it is said. We spend more time dealing with this one word in the news than any other one issue that certainly is more important than that.
Another thing I have learned is that we are all created equal. It is up to each one of us as to what we make of our own lives. There are many credible persons of all races who are happy and successful because of the choices they made – not what someone told them they could or could not do, or called them, or if they were disrespected.
What if we quit referring to race at all? What if we just call ourselves Americans?
One summer day in 1945 when I was six years old, my mother left my sister and me in our car while she went into the grocery store. Now, I have no conscious memory of where I ever heard the word 'nigger.' It was just in the air somewhere. And there were not many black people in Southern California, where we lived at the time.
So here we are in the car and I look out the window where I see a black man peddling by on his bicycle. I stick my head out the window, yell "Hey, nigger" and jump behind the front seat of the car. As I am hiding there, I hear a tap on the rear window. I look up and there is this same bicyclist looking down at me. Very respectfully, he said to me, "Little girl, it's not nigger – n-i-g-g-e-r; it's Negro – N-e-g-r-o." With that he merely got on his bike and rode off.
This man totally changed my life. I got more out of that incident than you would believe a six-year-old could experience. For one thing, I learned that yelling nasty things out of car windows could get me in a lot of trouble. Boy, was I embarrassed. I learned that black people are people, too. I learned that everyone deserves respect no matter what the color of their skin. I was so grateful for the way this man handled what I did when he could have been really mean to me or said nasty things and I would not have blamed him. Whatever prejudice I had at that time disappeared when that man educated me with his kind instruction and treated me with the utmost respect. I wish I could thank him today.
Let's go forward about nine years. My family spent a couple of years living overseas where my dad worked and we returned to the United States in 1953 – just about the time 'colored' television became available. When I was halfway through the 10th grade, we moved to Memphis, Tennessee. At that time, segregation was in effect. I had met some girlfriends and one day we decided to take the city bus downtown. They asked me where I wanted to sit and I said at the back of the bus because that was the most fun place to ride – where the rear tires made the bus ride bumpy and fun. They looked at me like something was wrong with me and said, "Oh, no. We can't sit there. That is where the 'colored' sit." Immediately my mind came up with a picture of a line of colored TVs lined up on the back seat of the bus. I had never before heard the word 'colored' applied to Negroes.
Now, non-prejudiced person that I had become at the age of six, I thought that black people having to sit segregated at the back of the bus was shameful. After the 'colored' TV incident and when I began going to high school in Memphis, I made it a point to ride at the back of the city bus. The white bus drivers never told me I couldn't; although, I did wait to see if they would. In looking back on it, I probably made the black people nervous – a young white teenager with a blonde pony tail sitting in the middle of all the black people. I recall a brief smile now and then; however, I was mostly ignored. The way it was then, my action possibly frightened them. It was during this time that Rosa Parks took center stage and I was very proud of myself for standing up for the rights of other human beings.
Now we come to a more present time and I am 74 years old. With all the history behind me, I have come to certain conclusions regarding the race issue. To begin, when I was little my mother told me that sticks and stones could break my bones but words would never hurt me. Also, being raised in America, I believe in free speech. If someone wants to call someone else a nigger, it is the person who says it that shows disrespect; it certainly doesn't hurt the one to whom it is said. We spend more time dealing with this one word in the news than any other one issue that certainly is more important than that.
Another thing I have learned is that we are all created equal. It is up to each one of us as to what we make of our own lives. There are many credible persons of all races who are happy and successful because of the choices they made – not what someone told them they could or could not do, or called them, or if they were disrespected.
What if we quit referring to race at all? What if we just call ourselves Americans?