May all relationships be cleansed and prosper.
May this renewal incite deeper understanding.
And may these broadened perspectives usher in true brotherhood and peace.

We are peace.

All thoughts, words, and deeds spring from Grace.
We are visions of Divine will.

We are peace.

All movement is in harmony with the miracle of life. 
We are seedlings, students, and guardians of magnificent Mother Earth.

We are peace.

All limiting, destructive beliefs are purified and transformed. 
We are dancing flames of happiness and health.

We are peace.

All interactions and intentions are energized with humility and truth.
We are sparkling waves of love and compassion flowing out to the world.

We are peace.

Let us each embody peace - with Spirit, with nature, with ourselves, with others.
No matter what it takes.
So be it.

Amen

Make still my mind, burst open my heart … rapture is my essence.

All beings have distinct messages to convey. In the eyes of our ancestors, winged creatures in particular carry signs from Spirit. When we attune to this higher dimension, answers and guidance are revealed.

The Vulture or Condor:  purify your being to welcome new vision and purpose

Baby Wren:  claim your voice and express it

The Hummingbird:  vibrate with love, dance with joy

The Hawk:  sharpen your clarity, then soar in your truth

The Raven:  pay attention to synchronicities, magic is nigh

The Woodpecker:  ground yourself in the rhythms of nature, the pulse of the Earth

The Macaw:  be color and bask in the sunshine

The Anhinga:  delve into your depths, trust your timing

When we are in the process of healing and transformation, signs and messengers become crucial beacons on our path. They deliver vital glimpses of the direction in which we need to be moving.  They herald the Call.

These harbingers can assume many forms, both animate and inanimate. Our ancestors revered the entire animal kingdom for the wisdom, the medicine they embody. Ceremony and ritual were worshipfully held to seek insights, clarity, and guidance from these Divine spirits, for the resolution of disputes and strategic action of the tribe. Our deep connection with the natural world was sacred, and must remain sacred.

Today, in our environment of frenetic information exchange, signs can arrive through headlines, billboards, TV, and text messaging. However, it requires a keen awareness to discern the veritable omen amidst the hi-gloss, hi-tech hawkers.

Like in the dating arena, where so many are quick to hopefully exclaim, “I met my soulmate!”, “Oh, I think he’s my soulmate!”; the same dilution often spills into the realm of signs and messengers. 

If you are inclined, upon hearing a piece of information or possible clue, to hurriedly call a friend for validation and ask “Is this a sign? Is this a sign?” - pause. If you are sincere in your query, give yourself a moment to inwardly reflect. Gather the growing excitement that you are allowing to leak out, and hold that energy.  Be still and let that feeling fill you. You will be able to distinguish whether you’ve received an important message or whether your ego mind was seducing you with what you wanted to hear. You will know.

The universal quality of genuine portents is the way we feel during and after the encounter. There is an immediate, overwhelming summoning to silence and a sense of humbling reverence.  We’ve held witness to an unmistakable God moment. We’ve been shown another miracle. The thrill of this new knowledge will bubble to the surface. Joy in its glory. This sacred and very personal event will long stay with you. Remember to honor it with gratitude.

I’d like to share a story that emerged from an unexpected and profound meeting I had in May 2007. Reading this account arouses within me the same emotions I felt that day. These soul-stirring occurrences are what colorfully and positively shape our journey – if only we have the wisdom to listen and the conviction to proceed.

Don Francisco - A Messenger from the Beyond

Last Friday afternoon on my drive to Golfito after spending the week scouting properties on the magical Osa Peninsula, I stopped in the sleepy, picturesque pueblo of El Rincon, on the banks of the Golfo Dulce and the fringe of her lush forest reserve. The purpose of my visit was to inquire about a property supposedly for sale. I had been given the name ‘Doña Raquel’ and sketchy directions on how to find her modest home. When I rounded the sharpest bend, as instructed, a simple wooden structure came into view on the right hand side of the road, on a low bluff overlooking the mesmerizing blue gulf. "That must be it!" I thought to myself. I pulled in on the flat, grassy driveway.

The surrounding gardens, abloom with a variety of colors and layered with greens, were obviously attended with love. An elderly gentleman sat motionless on a wooden plank on the spacious porch that wrapped around the rustic house. I got out of my dust-covered 4wd and began walking slowly toward the dwelling. My usual lively pace had already melted away while waiting 2-1/2 hours for the repairs to be completed on El Rincon's one-lane bridge. That long pause in the thick tropical heat will zap the energy from even the most hyper.

As I moved closer, this frail looking man seemed to not even notice me. I called out, “Está Doña Raquel?" No response. I tried again, this time increasing the volume. He raised his balding head. I smiled; he wrinkled his forehead. His weathered, unshaven face, accented with coarse white and dark graying whiskers and brows, spoke history even though he uttered not one word. I continued moving toward him. He then saw me … and I could see into him. His right eye shimmered with depth and wisdom, while his left eye was unrecognizable - a glazy white orb, almost like a large pearl.  There was a moment of silent, mutual acknowledgement.

I resumed my attempt to locate the woman I was seeking, asking again, “Está Doña Raquel?" He gestured to me to draw closer and speak into his ear. I began to explain why I was there, uncertain if he could even hear. He then nodded, arose, and totteringly led me to a sitting area on a shaded, breezy section of the porch on the other side of the house. From there through the open doorway, I saw an aging obese woman resting on a worn, cushioned chair watching a small television. She looked at me guardedly. I smiled warmly, still unsure if I would find Doña Raquel.

With the sweep of his arm, the stranger invited me to sit on a thick tree stump that had been fashioned into a stool. At least it was sturdy. During my years in rural Costa Rica, I have been asked on many occasions to perch on rickety chairs  and makeshift benches, and enter stilted dwellings with decaying floorboards that expose the land or water below. Concerned that I would break the humble furnishings of these kind families, I would opt to sit on the ground.

Now positioned closely to and directly in front of this old man, he began conversation with his name - Don Francisco - and that of his wife, Doña Raquel, the woman inside. A wave of calm contentment washed over me. He talked of the property that’s for sale. I listened to his accounts of the people who had come to see and ultimately sell his large parcel of land situated across the road from his home. Don Francisco shook his head in disappointment over the empty promises and brusque manner of the agents who had come to inquire. I counseled him and offered encouragement. We had found a very special connection.

Eventually Doña Raquel, who was noticeably trying to follow both our dialogue and her soap opera,  added her comments. She too was disenchanted with the whole process of trying to sell their farm.

I stood up and began strolling, admiring the sweetness of their simple abode. A grandmother to well over a dozen, Doña Raquel pointed to her extremely swollen knees, telling me of her medical problems and why she has difficulty walking. I felt like a visitor in a distant place and time, being given a glimpse into the quiet lives of this meek, salt-of-the-earth couple. I was a witness and yet a welcome participant … a future chronicler of this moving experience.

After several moments, I asked Don Francisco and Doña Raquel if I could photograph their peaceful gardens, quaint country kitchen, and of course, Don Francisco himself. As I remarked about her charming trimmings and decor, she gave me a look of surprise and then the approving grin. I pulled out my camera – my treasured travel companion – and let my lens lead the way. It always knows where to focus our attention.

I noticed that Don Francisco was closely observing my movements. Seemingly out of the blue, he asked me if I were a journalist. Astonished, I invited him to repeat his question to make sure I had heard him properly. He reiterated, “Usted es periodista, escritora?” (Are you a journalist, a writer?) Wide-eyed and open-jawed, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Is he reading my thoughts? Can he see into my dreams? Does he know something I don’t?

I began to tell him that I wasn’t a journalist, but have several writing ideas I’d like to pursue: books, documentaries and the most recent - a column called ‘Living on the Edge.’ He quickly interrupted; he had his own message to impart. With his gaze slightly downward, deep in thought, he announced in a strong voice as if prophecy, “You will enjoy tremendous success as a writer. Your stories will be very popular. You will see.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, I quickly took my seat on the tree stump in front of him once again. He leaned toward me, our faces almost touching. He took my hands in his and gently yet emphatically declared, “I cannot hear well and I can barely see, but I am profound. Hear what I say to you. It will be so. You have much to share with the world.”

We were locked in each other’s gaze - his one good eye, a sparkling lustrous brown, and my blues nearly overflowing with tears. All boundaries had been transcended. We embraced. There was a nakedness. We were in a presence, the Presence. In that moment, a silence blanketed our world. Too, the remaining sunlight had been hushed by looming storm clouds and a soft rain began to fall.

Whether or not success as a writer comes to me is irrelevant. The treasure here is the unsolicited, articulate message that was delivered by the most unsuspecting and off-the-beaten-track Divine envoy. It was an other-worldly moment and a beautiful, rousing sign to keep going, to follow the guidance I was receiving, and stay on course.