Category: Journal

Songs & Poems For Year’s End

Songs & Poems For Year’s End

Worry.

Give me that single word and I hear the raw emotion of Patsy Cline singing, “Why do I let myself worry?”

Indeed, why do we worry? Now I’m not asking what you worry about—it’s easy enough to have a list of reasons—but what is the purpose of worrying?

The Dalai Lama tells us, “If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it is not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.”       

In the early years of my marriage, finances were meager. Two small children to feed, a paycheque that, according to Stats Canada, was at the poverty level. Living paycheque to paycheque, sometimes no paycheque at all. In time, things improved. Eventually, we sold the house we’d lived in for twenty years. Among the items to be discarded were stacks of past bills and copies of cheque receipts from those worrying times. The emotion attached to the papers was still palpable.

As I shredded the documents, I felt the pointlessness of it all. What had worry accomplished? Nothing beneficial, that’s for sure. Worrying affects sleep, appetite, relationships, performance, and health. But worrying didn’t fast-track payment of the bills or buying of groceries. When we couldn’t do either, worrying didn’t change the facts. (Thankfully, there was always a pot of spaghetti and meatballs simmering at the in-law’s house when our money didn’t quite stretch to the end of the month.)

So, why did I let myself worry? The lyric implies that worry is a choice. To do or not to do. Sometimes doing worry is a habit. It’s what we’ve always done. There’s comfort in the familiar—even if the familiar is painful and self-destructing—rather than choosing something else, something untried.

But what can we choose instead?

For one, we can choose to take action. As suggested by the Dalai Lama, doing so can shift your mind from focusing on the problem to focusing on solutions. 

Another worry antidote is gratitude. Author Alison Wearing proposes a “ridiculously simple thing to do”—give gratitude—to lift your day. Say/sing good morning the moment you awake. Thank your bed, your pillow, the blankets. “Thank […] every damn thing about you.” (Fellow writers, check out Alison’s memoir writing program!)

One of my favourite gratitude greetings is this poem by Robert Louis Stevenson often used as a wedding prayer or table blessing.

Another form of giving gratitude is the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address. There are various translations, long and short versions. These words that come before all else put your worry into perspective by recognizing the many gifts already bestowed on us.

Kryon, as channeled by Lee Carroll (Dec 8/21) says to imagine yourself in the future when your problem is over and solutions have been found. You don’t know now what the solutions will be. You don’t know how solutions will happen or how long they will take. Nevertheless, project yourself  to when it’s over, to how that’s going to feel. Take on those feelings and bring them back to your Now time. In NLP terms, this is called modelling your future self. Powerful, indeed.

Love music? What’s your favourite worry song? Mine, of course, is Patsy. There’s something homeopathic—like cures like—in listening to worry wailing. Before you know it, you start feeling good. (Yay, Neil.)

I’ll admit that it’s not always easy to not‑worry. Will it always be a work in progress? With practise, will the feelings of the solution state (gratitude state) become the default state of being?

Worry or not-worry? It is a choice.

And freedom of choice is a true gift.

For that, I give thanks.
 
Photo by Hello I’m Nik on Unsplash

Originally published Dec 28, 2021.

Painting Lessons

Painting Lessons

Last month, I had the pleasure of attending a paint night hosted by Moses Lunham. I first met Moses in 2018 at Museum London where he held a class in rock painting. Each finished rock displayed one word of the Seven Grandfather Teachings. Truth rock sits on my desk, always in view as I write. Some rocks, like Respect and Wisdom, grace my herb garden, a lovely reminder when I’m picking Gaia’s bounty.

I’ve been following Moses Art on Facebook since we met, but my schedule never synchronized with his paint nights. Until this one. It helped that it was a Zoom gathering.

You may have guessed from my book title, Breathing With Trees, that I am enamored of trees. Just like one of the characters in the story, I am building a tree wall in my writing office. Life imitating art.

Each piece on my wall holds significance. The metal tree sculpture was added when I published my book. The framed birthday card of birch trees and a John Muir quote was a gift from my dear friend, Colleen. There’s dried cedar from an ancient forest where I hiked with my son. When I saw that Moses’ paint night was to be Falling Leaves Moon, I knew I wanted it to be part of my tree wall.

My past experience with painting was limited to rock painting at Museum London and grade nine art class. The art materials were inexpensive. (Moses sent me a picture of the supplies needed, available at any dollar store.) During class, Moses expertly angled the camera while giving instructions, knowing precisely when to zoom in on the palette as he mixed his paints, when to zoom out to show the whole picture, giving a wide viewpoint. He talked while we worked. About the painting, about his culture, about the technique.

The hours flew by and, before I knew it, I’d finished my painting. I examined the result, comparing it to Moses’ canvas. My leaves were too big, my sky too dark, the fallen leaves too many. Worst of all, my trees looked like cornstalks, not trees. Disheartened, I left the painting on the easel, determined to paint a new one the next day to correct all the errors.

Life got in the way and, for the next week, I didn’t have time to paint. I’d see the painting every time I stepped into my office. After a few days, my inner critic softened. I began noticing what I liked about the painting. The blue of the moon, the arc of the earth.  I remembered the joy I felt in creating it.

On morning walks, I began noticing the fallen leaves. Fat linden leaves and thin larch needles. Pointy pin-oak, jagged beech, gingko fans. Tree shadows on the sidewalk reminded me of the play of light and dark in the painting. I discerned bare trees silhouetted against the morning sky. Trees with a graceful central branch. Bifurcated trees with Y-shaped branches as if giving a blessing. Yes, even, stubby branches that looked like cornstalks. All different, co-existing. Accepted.

Slowly, I realized that paint night wasn’t about having a thing to hang on my wall. It was about creating a relationship with Gaia, becoming attuned to her colours and shadows, to her beauty. Paint night was a chance to experience the sacred. To find acceptance for myself. To reframe mistakes into learnings.

It’s true, my picture didn’t look exactly like Moses’ painting. It wasn’t supposed to. We are all different. We each bring unique perspective to creation. Isn’t that a gift!

Chi miigwetch, Moses and Gaia, for the painting lessons.

Dreaming the Infinite

Dreaming the Infinite

It came to me in a recent dream that life is a cycle of patterns. A pattern of cycles.

From All-That-Is, we individuate and incarnate to live as humans, only to die and return to the Collective Source, to All-That-Is.

Life—death—life. That is the cycle.

Or, if you prefer, Life—Afterlife—Life. 

The cycle is endless. Infinite.

Even when we incarnate as individual beings, a part of us remains connected to the Infinite during our earth time. Then we shed our earthy selves and fully return to the Collective.

In my dream, I pondered the Infinite, wondering, “How big is infinity?” My dream-mind wandered to big business, big ag, big pharma, and other political, educational, and health care infrastructures. Perhaps these mega conglomerates once began as an unconscious attempt—arising from our Soul’s memory—to re‑create the immensity of the Collective Source?

Too big to fail is a term that became popularized based on the 2009 book and subsequent film of the same name. TBTF is a theory that certain corporations become so large and essential that their failure would destroy the economy. Therefore, the argument goes, these businesses should be propped up by the government at all costs. But what if the government infrastructure is also failing?

All around us, we are seeing the dismantling of old systems as thousands leave their jobs. By choosing in favour of bodily autonomy, in favour of sacred DNA, in favour of free choice and informed consent, people are faced with not knowing how they will feed their families, whether they will lose their homes, or how their children will be impacted. It could be terrifying. Yet, as the systems break apart, I am seeing people rise like the Phoenix to create new systems. It’s magnificent and awe-inspiring.

One area that particularly fills my heart right now is the remodelling of education. Small student groups have formed, commonly called pods. How deliciously appropriate that these learning groups should have the same collective name as that of whales and dolphins—the spiritual knowledge keepers of the planet.

These human pods have lower teacher to student ratios and offer more individual attention, bonding, and diverse curriculums with nature-based education. (This model is suggestive of the methods once used by Indigenous cultures around the world, subsequently expunged, and now, enjoying a resurgence.) This teaching method instills a love and respect for Gaia, although many of today’s children are being born already aware of this connection. These children have enormous potential for healing earth and crafting system changes.

It can be challenging to be optimistic in these times. I, too, can find myself stalled in worry, fear or anger. But more and more, I focus on the positive changes I see around me, those groups saying Sayonara to Social Media, building intentional communities, forming new political parties. These are evidence old systems are being replaced.

Years ago, a Chakra Meditation was channeled to me and it is appropriate now to share it with you. May it bring you comfort and resilience, and remind you of your Divine magnificence to find your way forward.

Feline Friction

Feline Friction

Witches, ghouls, skeletons.

Hallowe’en is a time for things that go bump in the night. It is the time of year known in Celtic traditions as Samhain (pronounced sawein). It is the division of the year between summer and winter, between the light and the dark. The old and the new. Death and rebirth.

Symbolic for the times we are living, yes?

This time of year is when the veil between worlds is said to be the thinnest, allowing spirits of the deceased to come forth. Costumes and masks were intended to hide us from the spirits and to scare them off.

All Saints Day, or All Hallows, is a Christian day to pay respect to martyrs and saints. It was strategically set on November 1 to counter the pagan Samhain. All Hallows Eve, then, is the evening before, now known as Hallowe’en (e’en being a poetic form of evening.)

In some practices, this is a time valued for the ease of communication with the ancestors and spirit guides. Instinctively, I find myself visiting cemeteries to tidy up the graves of my loved ones—brother, father, grandparents—and to communicate while there.

This year, I also find myself in an online course, Channeling as a Profession. Having practiced shamanic journeying for many years, I am familiar with working with spirit guides and power animals. As a writer, I feel stories are channeled messages from Creative Source. In this latest workshop, I’ve been channeling my spirit guide, Magdaleina, and her messages of wisdom may become a regular part of this newsletter. This is her first shared message.

MAGDALEINA’S MESSAGE

Be kind.

Be kind to each other. Whether different or the same, be kind.

We are all one. Of the One.

Do not let your fear or so-called logic overrule your heart. Peace is heart-centered. Without peace, you have nothing that is valuable to the eternal soul.

Be still and find your inner peace. Calm, it is.

From this, grow your heart. Find it. Water it. Let peace grow your heart.

All will be well.

Photo by Sašo Tušar on Unsplash

The Blurring

The Blurring

“You just paddled and rowed, and you got to there. You got home.”

David A. Robertson, Black Water
Draw-a-line-in-the-sand (meaning)
(intransitive) To lay down a challenge; (idiomatic) To create a real or artificial boundary or distinction between (two places, people or things) ; (idiomatic) To indicate the threshold or level above which something will become unacceptable or will provide a response. www.yourdictionary.com


Lines have been drawn in the sand.

But have you noticed the blurring? It’s subtle, but there.

See the couple trying to conceive? On the advice of her physician, no jab due to the high rate of miscarriage. Maybe after the birth, she says. But infants have died after ingesting v’d breast milk. Maybe after weaning then. Long term effects on fertility are unknown. Do you want a second child? The family’s line in the sand softens to encircle her and await the newest member of the family.

See the teen athlete. He wants to get back in the game. Will jabs be mandatory? To play, to travel with the team? He’s too young for the shot…yet. But soon the age will be lowered. What about Health Canada’s report of myocarditis (inflammation of the heart muscle) and pericarditis (inflammation of the lining round the heart) following the jab? Cases are mainly adolescents and young adults, more often males than females. It’s only a small percentage of cases, you say. Unless, of course, your child is one of that small percentage. The line wavers…

See the funeral. The relatives sit, distanced throughout the church, masked in grief. The church has said her visible face isn’t welcome. Does she pay her respects and push her point? It’s not the time or place, she decides, to create a disturbance. (Some might argue it was precisely the time. But it was her choice.) Instead, she sends flowers and condolences, then sits in her garden, full face to the sun and sings, “If You lead me, I will hold Your people in my heart.”

Notice and observe.

See the blurring of the line as it is washed away by waves of compassion.
 
Photo by Lifeofmikey on Unsplash

What if Choice is a choice?

What if Choice is a choice?

“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.”

~Benjamin Franklin

Choice.

What does that mean to you?

How much do you value it?

As a teen, it meant being able to choose my own clothes, my own friends. Makeup, parties, boyfriends. Whether to kiss or make out. When to go all the way.

My decisions didn’t always have the best outcomes. Blue eye-shadow—ugh! Gold wire-rimmed glasses—I’m really a silver gal. A few high school chums are still around; many I no longer know. The parties are a blur. The boyfriends…meh. One went to jail for something that isn’t even a crime today. Another is still here 47 years later.

But the freedom to choose, whether the decision was good or bad, was mine. All mine. Therefore, the results from those choices are mine as well.

This freedom to choose, to live my life, is what I reflect on now. Where are we as a society without the freedom to choose?

I try to imagine what my teen years would have been like if my mother had made my freedom conditional, “You can only go out with your friends, to the mall or dance if you are on The Pill.” Honestly, I probably would have jumped on that, “Sure, no problem.”

Today we know the potential long term effects of the pill—blood clots, stroke, heart attack—but back then we didn’t. And what I know about my body and how it responds, that decision as a teen would not have had good outcomes for me now.

What if my mother said that when I was 13?

What if when I was 18?

Does it make a difference?

When is a teen old enough to make their own health decisions? This is one of the questions I raise in my novel Breathing With Trees.

What if that decision is influenced by a person in authority, a teacher perhaps? When does it become coercion? Abuse? If there are conditions attached, is it free choice?

Now, what if it wasn’t my mother imposing the rule, but the government?

“All females from the time of first menstruation until their 21st birthday must be implanted with Essure.”

Essure was a metal coil device installed in the fallopian tubes. It was claimed to be a safe, long term, and pain-free form of birth control. Turned out it caused fibrosis and blockages, perforated uteri and frequently resulted in hysterectomy. But, hey, it did prevent pregnancy. Often permanently. (It was discontinued in the U.S. in 2019, two years after it had been discontinued in other countries.)

What if you couldn’t go anywhere without having the procedure? What if there was no liability to the manufacturer, because the government gave them a free pass?

Is it ever okay to let the government mandate our medical decisions through coercion?

What if everyone was forced/coerced/bribed to take Vioxx? Here’s a free lottery ticket if you take it. You can go to see John Legend, Blue Rodeo, or Skratch Bastid if you take it.

“Come on,” you say. “Vioxx is for arthritis, not everyone will get that.” You’re right. That’s my point. That’s probably a bad example though because Vioxx was pulled from the market after one-third of the people taking it died of heart attack. Let’s try another example…

What if Thalidomide was mandated to all pregnant women? It helps with morning sickness, acts as a sedative and, you know, we women are supposedly a hysterical bunch. But I guess that’s another bad example since it too was pulled from the market after causing birth defects.

Accutane, Baycol, Bextra, Cylert, Darvon, DES. Opioids. The list goes on. Supposedly “safe” drugs later pulled from market. How many side effects or deaths does it take before a drug is pulled? One? Fifteen? 13,627?

But I digress, because this isn’t about the drugs per se. (And it’s not NOT about the drugs, ya know what I’m saying?) It’s about tying our freedoms to drugs and medical treatment. Or else… That, my friends, is coercion. It nullifies free choice.

Free.

Choice.

Think about it. Please.

Photo by Ashim D’Silva on Unsplash

3 Things I Learned From Having A Spiritual Practice

3 Things I Learned From Having A Spiritual Practice

Recently, a woman in one of my chat groups stated her desire to daily spend more time in prayer and meditation. This got me thinking about my own spiritual journey, how I’ve grown and changed over the years, to more often find a place of inner peace.

My personal practice is to begin each morning by singing to Gaia, then to the Great Spirit, followed by the Water Song, which I wrote about last month.  As I reviewed my path, I wondered, “What have I’ve learned from having a spiritual practice?” Here are three insights.

1. Develop a relationship
Prayer, meditation, or any spiritual practice is a two-way street. Yes, sometimes we petition, give thanks, or sing praise to honour Gaia, Spirit, the Ancestors, or deity of choice. But take time to also listen. They speak to us, perhaps in words, perhaps in images or a feeling. Perhaps they send signs or synchronicities. Taking time to bathe in the frequencies of Reconnective Healing and feel the sensations in my palms is often when I hear or sense the communication. Being in nature also facilitates easy exchange.
 
2. Know you are loved
The prayer songs I sing each morning are at the beginning of my book, Breathing With Trees. Here are the words to the Gaia song:
 
Mother, Mother, Mother Earth,
Let me tell you how I feel.
You have given me such pleasure,
I love you so.

 
Imagine my surprise when Gaia sang back to me:
 
Donna, Donna, Donna Dear,
Let me tell you how I feel.
You have given me such pleasure,
I love you so.

 
Be sure to listen for Gaia, but if you don’t hear words, try imagining her words to yourself. “But if I imagine it, it’s not really Gaia,” you say. Does it matter? The point is to get used to feeling her love, to receiving love.
 
When I sang to Great Spirit, the words back to me were:
 
Spirit knows your name.
You are dearly loved.

 
Kryon gives us this message this repeatedly. (I love the messages of Kryon, especially the Marshmallow Messages. Soft, gooey, comforting.)
 
Once I spoke aloud to a flower, “Oh, you are so beautiful” and she said, “What you see is your own beauty reflected back.”
 
3. You are worthy (& magnificent)
Deep down, so many of us suffer from a sense of unworthiness. I used to think mine stemmed from being raised in a church that taught me to say “I am not worthy to receive,” as I struck my breast to the sound of the tinkling altar bell.

Perhaps in order to take human form and incarnate onto Earth, the experience of separating from the energy of All That Is somehow initiates this feeling. Do we, as humans, somehow come to interpret separateness as unworthiness?
 
Scripture says to love your neighbor as yourself, but first we need to love ourself. Again, get used to receiving Love. From Source, Gaia, the trees. Practise saying:
 
I am magnificent.
I am loved.
I am worthy.
I am worthy to receive.

 
In Reconnective Healing, we learn, “Don’t send. Receive.” It is in receiving the frequencies/Love/energy that we are able to join our energy with that of others and the rest of the Universe.
 
So, too, with Love. It is in receiving that we are able to join our energy with the Love of others and the Universe.

Photo credit: William Farlow on Unsplash.

The Water Song

The Water Song

“It is increasingly clear to me that the impact of Indigenous values and attitudes has shaped us more than we will ever comprehend.”
Written in Stone, Peter Unwin

Water has memory, the Algonquin Grandmothers tell us. This is also the teaching from my study of homeopathy. Both the idea and the song resonated within, so some time ago, I added “The Water Song” to my morning spiritual practice. The song—a prayer of gratitude and blessing—is sung once in each of the four directions.

Near sunrise, I stand on the creek’s shore, focusing on the water, becoming aware of the trees and grasses that grow alongside the watercourse. Animals and birds replenish there. Humans, too, are dependent on water, consisting of 60 to 75% water. Like the Creative Source, water connects us, to each other and to all things.

Facing eastward, I sing and feel the energy of the words and melody travel the waters, down the Great Lakes to the mighty St. Lawrence. I imagine the people living there now as we, the song and I, sail by on a musical staff. People wave—shore people have always greeted water travellers with a friendly gesture—and we continue across the Atlantic Ocean, to the Baltic Sea, over Eurasia and the ancient kingdom of Galicia, home of my ancestors. The Vistula and San Rivers. The song carries me further east, around the world, and returns me to the spot on the shore.

I turn south. This time, to the people, the vegetation, the water marshes and bayous of the Mississippi, the Amazon River. Then the Antarctic Ocean, down and back up the other side of the world to return me to me again.

Westward, we follow the Fraser and McKenzie Rivers, with a special wave to the Nechako River and my grandchildren. Across the Pacific Ocean, swirling the Sea of Japan, home of my youngest son, until the energy returns me home once again.
 
Finally, northward. James Bay, Hudson Bay, Baffin Bay. Across the fjords of the Arctic Ocean. Russia, Kazakhstan. Down to the Arabian Sea, Indian Ocean. Antarctica. Reversing direction, we move upward, to Turtle Island, to me standing alone by the creek.

As I sing “The Water Song,” feel the energy, travel the world, I am filled with thanks. I have learned that the gratitude you give is returned to you, full circle. What goes around, comes around. The energy you send out affects the water and the people around the world. You matter.

With each turning to a new direction, I chant the ancient sacred tones—Hey, Yah, Ho—that vibrate in my body, resonating with the rhythm of the earth.

The water can hear you, the Grandmothers tell us. Gaia hears you. Take a moment. Hear the song she sings you in return.

Photo credit: Skeena River, traditional Wet’swet’en land, near Moricetown, BC.

Sing Your Song

Sing Your Song

Sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness. Galway Kinnell

This month has been spent not writing. I worried and fretted. Writers are supposed to write. Right?

Then I should all over myself.

I should be writing every day. I should be practicing. I should be using writing prompts. I should be following on-line lessons. I should, I should, I should.

Until I realized I was not writing because that is what I’m supposed to be doing now.

Instead of writing, I was taking time to think. To meditate. To sew the awning and weed the garden. To dream. To binge on rhubarb pie. To cut roses for my vase. To sing.

Whoa! Wait a minute. Anyone who knows me knows I do not sing. Not in front of other people anyway. I do sing to the trees and the water as part of my morning spiritual practice at the creek where no one can hear me. Believe me, I look around to be sure!

And yet, I find myself on a seven week course—Fall In Love With Your Soul’s Voice Through Song—with The Brothers Koren, Isaac and Thorold.

For some people, public speaking is their biggest fear. For me, it is public singing. I think I was twelve when I was told I was singing off key. That was when I shut down my voice. In a past life, I also stopped singing. It was under different circumstances, but you see this is a recurring theme for me.

My intention is not to become a professional singer or a songwriter. It is to reclaim those parts of myself that have been shamed, that are still hurting. So I can be free. So I can be more of my authentic self.

As Isaac and Thorold say, “Dare to suck!”

I am learning that each of us is a distinct, unique acoustic instrument. It is a myth that we need to sound good to take joy in singing. Song wants to be born through each of us.

I am learning to hear the small voice that tells me I am not good enough. I am not worthy. I am not perfect. Maybe your small voice says I am unsafe or I am too much.

I am learning to acknowledge the voice. I’ve named her Wanda. I am taking her under my wing and mothering her. I’ve got you, I say.

Concurrently, I am learning to Regenerate Images in Memory (RIM®) with Karena Neukirchner. I am getting to know my inner child, my emotions, and reprogramming my subconscious. I am finding self-compassion.

Inner work through images or singing takes time. Time to process emotionally and in the body. That is why my innate wisdom has been guiding me to not writing. So I could BE in this experience.

Last week, I finished a song started fifteen years ago. I’d received the words during a shamanic journey workshop where we created a poem to honour our spirit guide or power animal. The poem was intended to be sung, to become a personal power song, but I never found the music to finish the piece. Until now.

I recorded myself singing my song. I even posted it to my Soul Voice group. I sing it now (still very softly) as part of my morning spiritual practice. Maybe someday, I will sing it loud. Maybe even share it with you.

For now, I am singing: it is enough.

I am enough.

Photo by Ryk Naves on Unsplash

On Being Humankind

On Being Humankind

We all want our opinions to be validated. We long to say, “I was right and you were wrong.”

This virus has created great polarity.

Both sides are angry. Both are fearful.

Both sides are arguing: my science is better than your science.

Neither side is listening to the other.

If you’ve chosen to isolate, wear a mask, and get a vaccine, do you find yourself saying, “Those other people are so selfish. I hope they get sick. It’s what they deserve. Then they’ll realize how stupid they’re being.”

If you’ve chosen not to mask, lockdown or get the vaccine, do you say, “Those people are brainwashed and believe the propoganda. I hope they get blood clots or some other side effect. It’s what they deserve. Then they’ll see the truth.”

Maybe we don’t say the words aloud. But we think them.

I admit I caught myself thinking along one of those lines this week, followed by the thought, “When did I become the kind of person that would wish another misfortune?”

First, do no harm.

Perhaps the simple, oft-quoted phrase of the Hippocratic Oath should become the refrain of humankind.

Words are powerful. Thinking ill thoughts for another stems from our fears. It fuels our rage, justifies our beliefs, and fills our cells with dis-ease.

Did you ever think you would become the kind of person who spews hatred about and onto another?

I don’t have any psychic insight into how to end this great divide. What I can do is share the words of Kryon—the first true words I’ve heard in a long while—that were spoken recently in the Healing Circle of Twelve:

Please be kind to one another.

Honor each other.

What if, instead of wishing ill fortune for someone whose views oppose our own, we request a benevolent outcome?

Regardless of your position in the debate, can you ask this for someone with an opposing view, whether a friend, a loved one, or a stranger:

Let nothing inappropriate from the virus or vaccine touch him/her/them.

Wishing the best for someone doesn’t require that one side be right and the other wrong.

If it is difficult for you to say the words, spend some time examining that reluctance.

Here is another suggestion. This Living Prayer comes from “The Gentle Way” by Thomas T. Moore.

I ask that the general attitudes of all the peoples on the Earth become compatible with the general attitudes of all other people on Earth.

Namaste.

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