Holly Daze

This time of year, my home is usually filled with fresh cedar, juniper, holly, ivy and mistletoe – not to mention candles everywhere, the smell of Christopsomo baking, and the sound of music. I thought that since I could easily share the music aspect, I’d put together a little gift. So, please enjoy these 88 carols and songs from all over the world. All you have to do is click “play all.”   I wish you a blessed Solstice, Merry Christmas and joy – no matter what you celebrate this time of year that brings in the Light.

http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8CBD70D184C88565

Thank you for all you are doing to help create a better world!

Thanks Giving

The sun lowers westward behind Mount Konocti. Rays cut through the blinds on the window behind me and I acknowledge that millions of people in this country have either had their Thanksgiving feast or are about to sit down to dine together. Prayers of thankfulness sail into the ethers and the distant or parted relations are remembered as the time of last harvest is celebrated.

My family and friends are scattered all across the country from Georgia to California, Florida to New York, Washington to Texas. Several phoned, sent texts or emailed me earlier today, and we spoke of feasts, love and gratitude for life. Everyone has different plans, en masse with friends and relations, enduring freeway traffic to get to a destination, or as couples enjoying a quiet time at home. I miss them all, but I am not lonely as I sit far away but happy in these Northern California hills.

I think about the Wampanoags, the misinformation that’s tumbled through the centuries, and I laugh out loud to think I once wrote a play titled “Prudence and the Pilgrims.” Yes, at age 11 I wrote a silly mini-play, probably really just a scene – which had something to do with a young girl hiding behind a bin for storing firewood. The actual work is lost, but children in a much older class performed the piece long ago, with yours truly playing the “lead” role. I have no recall of anything about it, other than the teacher smiling, my hiding moment in the oversized wood bin (which was created by drawings on huge paper, somehow efficiently propped up), and I do remember that Indians were involved, but I fear I had adopted the programmed common story rather than actual facts. I long ago learned the facts and only wish they were currently taught in our schools.

My yam bakes. The bundle of thin asparagus is trimmed and washed, and earlier – after I rose from sleeping in quite late, and sat for pie and coffee by the hearth – I cooked fresh cranberries with a little orange juice and brown sugar to chill for my meal later. No, I don’t eat turkey anymore.

I grew up with the bird as centerpiece, and prepared them year after year for my own family, but today I choose to simply omit all meat from my life. Partly because I find the turkey industry in our times more than a bit grotesque, but also because I’ve had the privilege to see wild turkeys up close. I’ve watched their young scamper across parks or roads in the suburbs, their parents climbing rooftops to get to trees above. I’ve watched them foraging in wild forests and heard their shrieks and calls to one another near rivers and streams.

Three vases in my little living room here in the cottage hold dozens of feathers that I’ve collected in recent years – all found on the ground on my walks. Many of these feathers are from wild turkeys and they help me to remember to “keep it light.”

The US Poultry and Egg Association states, “The value of turkeys produced during 2010 was $4.37 billion, up 22 percent from the $3.57 billion the previous year. Turkey production in 2010 totaled 7.11 billion pounds…”  This disturbs me not only because I have an affinity with birds in general, which I didn’t realize fully until about 15 years ago, but I have compassion for all life forms. Period. This I was clearly reminded of when I watched the film Earthlings in its entirety – no easy mission, but ultimately rewarding.

Two hundred years ago, perhaps, the manner of killing a bird for food was far different from what we find today, nor is it the same as it might have been for our grandparents or tribal peoples. Due to the rampant rise of the “factory farm.” I simply can no longer stomach the horror these birds endure. That isn’t to say I mind if others consume turkey. I know that many people are simply uninformed about the industry, or if they are informed, they simply don’t care. I can’t judge that, though I do hope more people choose to support the smaller farm where birds roam freely and are fed, treated and killed humanely, with respect for their life force.

I love pie, and typically bake a lot during the autumn and winter months, especially during the holiday season. I didn’t bake my own pumpkin pie this year, though, because other challenges seem to temporarily have caught my attention. But I bought one fresh baked yesterday evening and every forkful comes with a little moan of appreciation.

Today is a time for the outward expression of thankfulness for our many blessings, but daily acknowledgment of the people, places and things we are grateful for feels much richer. My list varies day to day, depending on the colors of the leaves I see, or the sounds of the wind and rain, the angle of the sun or moonlight across a section of ocean, and whoever I might encounter.

My gratitude is deep for every moment now. In the silence of my home I contemplate these things and this moment I give thanks for:

-         My breath and the sanctity of my life

-         My ability to love greatly

-         My alignment with Mother / Father God

-         The protection of my angels

-         My teachers

-         The knowledge that comes from my experiences, no matter how challenging

-         Knowing the power of forgiveness

-         Knowing that Layla, Beth, Jill and Ryder are warm, fed and safe

-         Knowing all my family and friends have shelter and food

-         My mother’s loving heart and generous spirit

-         The art hanging on my walls

-         The sparkle of the candlelight reflected in the cut glass mirror

-         The hum of this computer that connects me to those I love and care about

-         The delicious aromas coming from my kitchen

-         The rooster-of-many-colors who comes calling every day like a suitor strutting

-         The squawk of the bluejays begging for peanuts

-         That my senses are alive to see, hear, smell, taste, feel and know

-         The stones, seashells, feathers, branches and crystals that remind me of nature’s beauty

-         The promise of the swift return of soldiers from false wars

-         The bravery of young people daring to stand up for humanity

-         The snow on Mount Shasta

-         Lipstick

-         The new leaves on the irises near my front porch

-         Having hot and cold running water so readily available

-         Filters for the water I consume

-         The delight of the Dollar Store

-         My amazingly talented coaching clients

-         My ability to lift, stand, walk, turn, bend, twirl and reach

-         Income through creative endeavors or surprises I hadn’t before considered

-         The many, many candles I found when unpacking my boxes in the recent move

-         A running automobile

-         The sight of a horse running freely

-         A dolphin’s leap

-         Girly pleasures fulfilled

-         This antique wood stove and firewood to keep me warm

-         Discovering a clump of bulbs near the lilac trees

-         The scent of sage and sweetgrass, cedar and juniper

-         Burdock root and sheep’s sorrel and other healing herbs

-         ASEA water

-         The successes of my friends

-         The readers of my work

-         Chant and song, violins and clarinets, pianos and drums and composers

-         Serendipity and synchronicity in all aspects of my life

-         The grace of a sailboat underway

-         88% dark chocolate

-         The tender caring, strength and support of Dmitri, Reverend Lee and Jack, Jason, Treva, RJ, Byron, Hugh, Randy, Jim, William, Paul, Gary, Bo, Peaceman, Patrick, Bradley, Matt, Andre, Graham, Guillermo, David, Andonis, Arda and Luigi.

-         The loving support, humor and generosity of Renita, MJ, Catherine, Kathleen and Kathleen, Christine, Bev, Chalice, Vikki, Sue, Maria, Fay, Betsy, Cindy, Pepi, Cheri, Stacey, Chrystine, Marie, Stephania, Janis, Yvonne, Tihana, Gaye, Wendi, Carol Joy and Mia.

-         Clouds

-         Mother Ocean

-         The goofiness of kittens

-         All my cozy slippers

-         Having a seemingly endless supply of toilet paper

-         Frilly lace and colorful beads

-         Books, books, books

-         Our universe

-         Growing and learning and laughing and playing and flirting and weeping and celebrating every moment even as we create and respond to one another in the never ending outer expression of the inner that remains constant

-         My ancestors

-         My granddaughter’s voice and getting to see and hold her

-         Expressions of love

-         People awakening, people helping others, people saying thank you.

And so much more.  Including you.

Because when I think of one thing for which I am grateful, another immediately relates, and then I realize the list is endless. I AM simply thankful ! What a wonderfully beautiful and precious life I have!

The sun is fully down now and I have enjoyed my delicious and hearty meal, even as I pray that all the world be fed – both nourishing food and a bounty of love. So, too, I offer this:

May your list of things to be thankful for continue to grow, too, and may your daily blessings multiply with ease and grace, one after another after another. Always, in all ways that bring you joy. May the gratitude you feel for your every breath remind you of the incredibly precious soul you are. And may your every happy dream arrive with the lightness of a feather in your heart.

Shine on,

Debra

 

====

http://blog.nmai.si.edu/main/2011/11/do-indians-celebrate-thanksgiving.html

http://www.gentlethanksgiving.org/

http://usda.mannlib.cornell.edu/usda/current/usturk/usturk-11-09-2007.pdf

http://www.sustainabletable.org/features/articles/thanksgiving/

http://www.earthlings.com

http://www.udreview.com/editorial/americans-blind-to-treatment-of-turkeys-raised-for-food-1.2712918#.Ts7pXFbNRYk

Sage Wisdom

Wandering through the rugged area around the Columbia River Gorge in eastern Washington 20 years ago, my family and I stopped to pick sage for cleansing rituals. We weren’t sure at the time if this was THE sage we’d previously purchased at $3.00 a bundle at various powwows or metaphysical shops in Seattle, but we thought it had to be close enough. After all, we were visiting in the land of the Coeur D’Alene and Nez Perce peoples. We offered thanks, picked a few leaves, took it home, dried it, burned it. Healed our lives.

White Sage - from Green Thumb Alliance

Like anything, it was the intent attached to our ritual which made it “right”. It didn’t really matter if that wasn’t the purest form of sage used by Native tribes for eons. What mattered was that we chose to merge with the symbolized aspects of letting go.

Sage has been used since ancient times by indigenous peoples of many cultures. Whether it be for cleansing, healing, prayer or just to meditate upon while it burns, it is our intention funneled from pure heart energy that will yield the desired effect from what we call smudging, clearing or pujas, using smoke as the blessing element. Many of us light candles, burn incense, relegate our desires to words spilt over make-shift or dedicated altars adorned with symbolic trinkets of cut crystals, locks of hair, or mutated representatives of the muses. Invoking guidance for our highest, most centered Self, we engage in silent contemplation or seek comfort in musical notes which at any given moment can yank us from confusion and place us into soul-itary confinement.

Many people do not know how to meditate, or that such a thing is even available to them. I’ve been doing it for maybe 30 years, but I intuited my own way to do it, and until I began I had no concept of what it was or what it could do for me. Meditation arose in my awareness like a mist over a bog. It appeared and reappeared only when conditions seemed right. I continued to practice it when I wanted or needed to because it enriched my life. It calmed me. Slowed me down. Put me in touch with a deeper sense of knowing. Then through the years, it became more important to me as a way to regain my center.

Some people meditate easily in public places. Today I can do that, although when I first began, I needed total silence. Some people need a quiet place away from any distraction, as I did, and this I still prefer. Some of us notice that if we do not routinely isolate or still ourselves for a few minutes daily — or for a day weekly — we become grossly caught up with the whirlwind passage of time and events not directly aimed at our lives, but which affect us because some portion of our lives overlaps the general outer flow of activity. Until we purposefully choose to disengage from drama, media, busy-ness and distractions that have no direct purpose or true meaning in our experience.

Let me encourage you to gather your ornaments of re-membering once in awhile. Become still and listen to your breath, or to American Indian flutes, classical music, or the prayers of Hildegard von Bingen. Light candles or sit in darkness. Stare at a Celtic cross, a feather, or a precious mineral for no other reason than to allow yourself to wonder. Sit by a lily long enough to watch it open. Set all your worries on back burners for a moment. You can take them on another time, and fears will surface in spite of your efforts to abolish them. Embrace them or deny them, but acknowledge they are there.

Take time to regroup with your core.

Regroup with your true Self as often as possible, lest you become swallowed by venues of imperfection, and find yourself lost in human affectations which ultimately are pointless.

The lines of religion and spirituality are reforming, crossing over into regions where dogma is dissipating into nether-clouds of rediscovery.

Transitions, you say? Hasn’t this world always been in transition? The point is, while every cell in your body is replicating invisibly, your soul yearns for the constancy and immobility it IS. For brief moments now and again, you can feel that, and feel how your spirit relates to your mind and your body’s efforts in the present moment. Your souls yearns to be the leader, but is often ignored or neglected, until moments of tragedy or illness force you to stop if you do not do so by active choice. The ego may struggle and kick and scream, but when you return to your breath, to your soul, your core, the ego will shush.

Hearing someone say “breathe” when a friend is tense or agitated by Life’s pesterings, one might actually do it. Stop and become conscious of the breath. Listen to it moving through you. This is often the source of inspired thought. Which leads us to inspired action.

Spiritual leaders often bring us back to the breath, because the simple awareness of breathing commands our focus. Deep and slow breathing like that taught in certain meditation programs results in a shifting of our attention that unites our soul with our form. Breathing deeply for long periods of time will take you naturally into a form of meditation, so you don’t really need a class to do it. Just breathe.

In a workshop not long ago, led by a woman named Reverend Sandy, she said “God is closer than our breath.” Think about what that might mean to you. I didn’t know then that she was quoting the Bible, or St. Augustine, or ancient Hindu scripture. But it made sense to me. I found it a deeply comforting thought, reinforcing the concept, “You are never alone.”

Sage Bundle - from Low Tide Island Design

Later tonight, when I light my dried sage, far from my family who have dispersed to different parts of the country, I’ll be paying attention to my breath. The sage I will burn is sacred sage from the hills of California. As it burns, I will witness the release of the desert winds captured in each branch of the sweet-smelling wild plant. I will align with Great Spirit and feel our Unity. I will breathe deeply and offer the smoke with my prayers. The smoke will rise and find it’s way, and I will feel empowered, renewed and cleansed because, simply, that is my intention.

Everyone’s a Guru – Print Version and eBook

Everyone’s A Guru is coming out soon in print and eBook!

You will be able to purchase it at all the usual outlets.

Visit the following link or see my coaching website to :
– learn more about it
– see a free preview
– purchase the eBook ($8.99)
– purchase the trade paperback ($16.95)

http://www.completewritingcoach.com/everyonesaguru.html

ABOUT THE BOOK:
(click on cover images for full view, then click the back button to return to this page)

Rigas encourages readers to become adept at discerning while searching for their own ‘gurus’. A bit tongue-in-cheek throughout, her moments spent in Greece, St. Lucia, Hawaii, Spain, Washington, or at computer monitors and the open ocean invite readers to think twice (or more!) about choosing from the gamut of paranormal and alternative offerings, while carefully selecting others who might help them along the way.

What is a guru? A guru is a teacher – it could be anyone. Why do you need one? It depends on what you want to learn. What does a guru look like? How many are there? How will you know the best one for you? Who might be a fraud to avoid?

Through humor and wisdom (sometimes hard won), the author shines a light on the ‘new age’ while asking you to consider picking up your own torch. Our world needs you…and your Guru…now. Set your ego aside, breathe deeply and dive in.

Join the Author on Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Debra-J-Rigas/169730203070079

After Writing 32 Articles This Week, I Went To Bodega Bay

My Saturday (June 25th, 2011)…. or ‘How I Keep My Sanity as a Writer’….

After tending to Owen, the cat — commander of the home where I sometimes housesit — and packing up essentials, I headed to the coast. California’s coast – my good friend. I know this coast intimately. Have walked much of it and seen every accessible square foot of it, from the Mexico to Oregon borders.

At 9:30 in the morning, the sun held Marin’s hills in picturesque beauty, which I don’t believe anyone up here ever gets “used to” or takes for granted. The hills are beginning to brown up a bit, since the rains of a too-long winter have now stopped. Finally. The lush greens of winter haven’t faded altogether yet, and the grand oaks, wildflowers and grasses stand in solidarity with Gaia’s best. Nicasio Reservoir reflected the surrounding hills like a blue tin mirror.

Boats bobbed in the still waters of Tomales Bay at I drove into Marshall, one of my favorite small towns. A cormorant on a collapsed pier piling unfolded its wings, letting them dry as others around it dove for little fishes. Cows mated on the slopes. Crows and gulls looped round evergreen trees, noisily flying high and low.

I stopped at the little grocery store in town, grabbed some fresh bread to go with my cheese later. Numerous bicyclers had removed their riding helmets and stood drinking coffee from the deli, or eating treats from the bakery. Many other bikers cycled down the narrow 2-lane road as I continued on, carefully passing them every few miles. The hedgerows had overgrown the road in certain sections of Shoreline Highway (Hwy 1) and the weeds and wildflowers stood 8 feet tall in some places.

Beach Woman

A mile south of the town part of Bodega Bay, I turned west and joined the growing group of conscious people who care deeply about the well being of our planet. We came together to stand for clean water and alternative energy sources, for stopping the drilling of oil along California’s beautiful coastline. After the event, I went by the home I was near to purchasing — until a huge film budget plan fell through. It needs some work, but I didn’t knock on the door to offer my help. The timing was wrong.

Steep Steps

The beach at Salmon Creek was closed — another symptom of the spreading dis-ease currently closing our state, county and regional parks. I went further up the coast and parked, grabbed my lunch and beach chair, then walked down a steep bluff to a tiny cove. Ate my nuts and berries, and bread and cheese, then sat awhile. Refreshed and re-energized, I meandered around the large rocks, pausing to watch waves, pick up pieces of broken shells, and count the colors of the ice plant.

Rocks in Cove

When a family of six arrived, the kids noisily playing, I packed up and drove back to Bodega. I spent the remainder of the day at Bodega Head, hiking over the grounds saved from exploitation by those wanting to build a nuclear power plant at the site. The primary reason the plans failed had to do with the San Andreas Fault, which created Tomales Bay, and runs right through Bodega Head, then continues northward, a mile offshore.

Coast Wildflowers on Bodega Head

I stood at the point, watching gulls and cormorants and pelicans on the huge rocks below. Then headed off to walk the circular route atop the lands. Beginning with the inner meadows, I circled clockwise, leaving the spectacular bluffs till the return, taking care at the steepest of cliffs. Waves splashed on the hundreds of rocks; a group of 9 pelicans flew low over the water, heading northwest. I whispered messages for them to take along. Checked the waters for signs of dolphins and whales — none appeared.

North on Bodega Head

On Bodega Head, there’s a small outcropping, an oval containing the last trees. I had ignored it upon first arriving, the drama of the seas my first goal to witness. But when I returned, I followed the impulse to walk in and have a look. The massive pine — I think it is a juniper — had bent and fallen and contorted and regrown itself in a variety of shapes. The darkness inside the cave-like setting endowed a sense of wonder as well as a curiosity about beings that might inhabit the place (seen or unseen). I sat on a low, long and well-worn branch, where others before me have smoothed the trunk. I hummed to the essence of the soul of place, and peeked out an archway to view the surrounding wildflowers. I offered a little of my water to the earth and this last stand.

Last Stand

Three hours later, I headed back to town, stopping at the Spud Point Marina to check out the boats. Crossing the street, I stood in line at the very busy, very small restaurant. “Fast food” for these parts, with what folks refer to as the “best fresh crab around.” I got a crab cocktail and every sauce-dipped, cool bite melted in my mouth. Before leaving the area, I parked awhile and watched a white heron hunting for its supper in the marshes. I left before she’d caught anything.

Returning late in the evening on the same road, the bicyclers had all but vanished, and the hedgerows seemed to have grown another six inches across the lanes. The winds were up to about 15 knots and building, which rustled the grasses and sent off ripples in shades of tan, beige, green and gold. Fog bursts appeared in pockets around the valleys and over the reservoir.

Back at the house, I conducted the evening love-fest ritual with Owen, then sat outside to write awhile. Scents from the roses and jasmine caught in the wind and the temperature dropped somewhat rapidly. Suddenly, from all directions, crows appeared and began squawking like mad. Dozens of them flew in and stood on branches over the tallest trees in the backyard. An odd sound came from under a section of ground cover in the left corner, so I went to investigate — after tucking Owen indoors, because he was clearly agitated.

On closer inspection, I found a young crow, trying to fly, but unable to move off the ground or even to fully spread its wings. It was lying on its side. I’ve dealt with (too) many dying animals, so immediately recognized it must be injured. I ran inside, grabbed a towel and returned, covering it gently, then petting it and talking it across. He died quite quickly after taking a few noisy last breaths, crying for life, calling to the birds all round. Wrapping him in the towel, I held him awhile, weeping softly, stroking the glistening feathers. There was no obvious sign of injury.

I dug a suitable-size hole and buried it, marking the wee grave with a perfect sand dollar I’d picked up on a long-ago beach walk, and shells from today’s ventures. Scattering rose petals, I said a prayer, and let him lie in peace.

The other crows all flew off then, confused but in acceptance that one of their own was no longer.

Today – Sunday – two crows returned. One sat on the high fence directly above the site where the young crow had died, the other on a branch directly over it and to the right slightly, closer to where he is buried. They called out, turned their heads as though doing one last check to be certain he was gone, then flew off after inspecting the grounds. I presume these might have been its parents. There was just something about them….

Bodega Head View

Now what …

So, the book is completed, and the tedious formatting triple-checked.  The cover is done (unless I decide to change it at some point). The issue now is to get everything ready for distribution.

A few reviewers now have the book, and I’m faced with the next step toward what all authors need: readers. 

These are common concerns to indie writers:

- Why would anyone want to read my book?
- How do I let the world know my book exists?
- How does an ‘unknown’ author become ‘known’?
- Do I need an agent?
- Where do I send the press releases?
- How hard should I work toward print versions and why?
- How much time can I commit to marketing?
- How do I support myself meanwhile?
- Why am I not walking the beach instead?

These are the things I know:

- My book is timely.
- The audience is broad.
- I have multiple skills in PR and the Internet.
- I know how to network.
- I like my book.
- It’ been raining like stink for months.
- I’m behind on bills.
- Beaches are cold right now.

First things first. Everyone’s A Guru will be available through my website and all book outlets. Good. Some people have already bought the first rough eBook version. Not enough yet to land a place on the New York Times eBook Bestseller list yet, but that’s cool. I can be patient.

Just getting our work read can take commitment, persistence, courage and discipline. My writing clients often discuss how they hit the wall with their own work – many of them screenplays. The frustration that can arise from receiving a lot of rejection notices doesn’t have to stop writers. What’s that line about Colonel Sanders knocking on a thousand doors before someone got behind his fried chicken recipe? Yep. Tenacity.

We can be tenacious, clinging to hope with certainty that our work is good. In our hopes to share it, we try all avenues. But there’s a fine line between working our fannies off and stopping to let Divine Intervention help move things along. Maybe the Universe wants my book to be read – but I don’t have the call sheet for all the readers the Universe has in mind. Maybe my Angels are already tapping on a few shoulders so people will be led to search for exactly what I’ve got to say. I do such a such a task, then hand things over to the Etheric Control Team. Okay. Fine. I can do that.

But I committed to 10 hours a week, minimal, of marketing efforts.

Family and friends have been notified, but if you’re like me, not everyone in the family or friends group cares about what we’ve got to say. Some haven’t picked up a book since their school years. Which is fine. So, we try to focus on the world-at-large. The people who don’t know us, and might not have (happy or limiting) preconceived notions about our work, our art, the words we choose, and our messages – what we hope people will experience by reading our stories and opinions and thoughts.

Most writers with experience know that readers will have a variety of responses to our material. Some respond quite positively. Some negatively. And some just don’t ‘get it’. We can’t be concerned with how others respond. We can just try to get our work into the hands of people who will either relate to it or glean something of value, or perhaps just feel entertained awhile.

Marketing can be maddening. I happen to have a little background in that arena, usually helping others. Which I’ve found is easier than marketing myself. I’ve read dozens of articles for the indie writer, and written a few as well. I’m going step by step, planting one seed at a time down each row of my reader-garden, while hoping for a nice harvest. It’s early.

Every day, doing just a little bit, and balancing that with letting the Etheric Team take over seems to be my style. There’s no deadline to meet. No outcome pre-planned. No expectation for how things will actually pan out. I just keep doing what I know best. And I appreciate all my family and friends who are helping get the word out. Those are seeds, too. Meanwhile, I’m holding a beautiful image of a lush, satisfying, joyous, weed and pest-free garden in mind. Let the sprouting begin!

As soon as the sun’s out, and the garden starts to warm, I’m hittin’ the beach!

On Bookstores, Corporations and Choices

Writing 14 to 18 hours a day for two months.  . . The book is in the throes of final revisions. My editor and I completed the final draft, and now it’s in the hands of a few trusted readers for feedback – did I overlook anything too glaringly obvious? The book is close, but there’s more work to do. I have to take a little break from it, and return later with fresh eyes.

Torrential rains, blasting winds and a splattering of hail have provided most of the background music throughout the weeks of writing. The world moves through changes that go unnoticed as my focus is here, on this work.  Some people are asking about when they can read it. Soon, soon.  But with companies like Barnes and Noble going bankrupt, printed matter may become obsolete before my book would even make it onto the shelves. It takes about a year if an agent picks you up and after a publisher comes through with a promising contract.

Thus, I’m looking at all the options from eBooks to Print on Demand (POD).  A lot of ‘authors’ out there, with everything from soft porn to political opinions to sci-fi. Some excellent writers, but also a lot of dross. Weeding online through the millions of so-called ‘books’ to find authentic, quality reading material brings its own set of challenges. But it can be found. Keep looking – those great authors are out there.

Back to Barnes and Noble – that huge chain store was part of the reason so many small, quaint, unique bookstores went out of business across America. I watched through the years, saddened to see all the independent book shops closing their doors – they just couldn’t compete. Problem is, people chose to go to the big stores, which made them even bigger. Discount and bargain basement prices made it all rather tempting. Soon, it’s likely that anyone with actual hard cover books will consider those items as ‘rare’. Will they have value beyond the obvious original price-tag? Will they have value at all to anyone? Maybe those books filled with colorful images, or grandma’s old recipe books. A few classics could linger.

I never thought it was very noble of ole B&N (and their ilk) to contribute to the dissolution or collapse of independently owned book stores. (Walmart was soon on the heels of all the big ‘brand’ companies, and what does it say when we choose to shop there? Okay, given that so many people are living on welfare and extremely low incomes, of course it might be wise to give such companies their business. But aren’t there options here? Can’t we support the local farmers (who don’t submit to Monsanto) and alternative medical practitioners and small, privately owned stores struggling just as much as you or I might be?)

My heart goes out to the employees of companies like B&N, but the company itself – at least their major players – will come through unscathed. Maybe B&N is paying a karmic debt to society, especially to the ‘small fry’. (Dontcha just hate that term?)

I miss going into the little bookstores in small town, USA. During my many travels, dropping in to learn about local authors (always featured) or to sit on a big, worn, overstuffed couch and browse a new book was always a great pleasure.

I took a 10,000 mile road trip from Oregon to California and across to Key West, Florida, back to Los Angeles last year. I pulled off the Interstate often, and drove down the main streets of many a small town and country community. Remember the term ‘ghost town’? Well, more and more of those small towns are folding up, closing shop, falling into disrepair, the people too tired to even be apathetic anymore. Their lives have been brutally altered by big corporations, whether B&N or the huge meat packers and such.

The ‘heart of America’ is either going to explode soon, or shrivel into nothingness due to the heartlessness of the major corporations and agencies that currently control pretty much everything that seems to be happening. From banks and food production to drugs, energy and other resources, so much change is happening – all controlled by a very few people.

I’m hoping more people choose to take action rather than just watch the constant rehashing on television; get up out of the chair and do something to help things improve.  I don’t need to make the list for you. Every social site and cell phone has enough alerts and notifications to make your skin crawl. We watched from afar as the people in Egypt ‘showed up’ and got things done. Around the world, other countries and cultures are now getting on board the Freedom Train.

What’s Ameica doing? Wisconsin folks are brave enough to be out there in horribly freezing weather to take a stand for basic rights, and against the misrepresentations or misappropriations of funds (by their Governor) for which they shouldn’t have to provide recompense. What’s going on in your state? It won’t be long before more and more people are more and more fed up with the absolute imbalance going on in our world – not only at the economic level, but on every level imaginable. Anyone without solid spiritual foundations may feel unsupported and lost. Those of us with spirituality as a foundation will have to find our balance point on our own.

I watch. I observe. I take action as guided and fiercely hold onto hope. Let’s try to stop letting others control how we should think, and really do the critical work of discerning who is telling the truth, of who is actually serving the country in a manner that aligns with the concept of “by the people, for the people.”

Remember, it only takes one…