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Araruama

Sincerely Yours

 

Once or twice this side of life, we come across a beautiful scene, an unforgettable person, an unexplainable bliss filled moment, and/or the sinking into the life of another being’s sorrow in total empathy.  Each are defining moments that we revisit when time slides into memories.

I searched for so many self-help methods, I remember being admonished for doing so.  I don’t know if I was more surprised that it should have been a bad thing, or if I felt shyly embarrassed; in retrospect, maybe both.  Ironically, the process served me well.

At a group therapy session, we were asked to close our eyes and visualize a place we would like to be in for a half an hour, preferably one that delighted us in some way.  I still go there to fall asleep in prayer.

My God parents visited us in Sao Paulo just before we moved to Niteroi. It was then that we went to Araruama. My father must have taken the photo. My mother is to the left in white.

The pure white sand beach glistened even below the clear emerald and aquamarine water.

The see-through colors at the Araruama beach in Brazil was empty except for tall bales of wind swept salt foams.

I ran through them and heard their soft cracking like chimes and felt enveloped as if inside a translucent bubble.

I ran into the water and floated so easily as the salt held me up me like a feather.

With eyes open below the water, I found a few treasured shells, and I still have them.

Somewhere behind me stood my parents and Godparents.   Keep Reading

One’s Endurance: a Grateful Immigrant’s Story

Sometimes the “A HA!” moment comes in a quote:

”  Let yourself silently be drawn by the strange pull of what you really love.  It will not lead you astray.” _Rumi

I’ll tell you how the sun rose, —
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
“That must have been the sun!” _Emily Dickenson

One’s endurance is measured by the breadths taken day and night to survive rejection.  It is inexplicable to the unbeliever because the life of faith delivers an ever restoring, flowing Holy Spirit.  Without it, I could not have arrived at this moment in time.

I can count my encouragers.  Who are yours?

In this abundantly planted orchard of life, the fruits ripen to be chosen rather than discarded.  In today’s bowl, endurance is at the center; it has an old flavor recognizable for its ancient characteristics.  Its value is as long as the beginning of each day is observed.  It is delightful to the soul, gentle in texture and borders  on honey for sweetness.

I remember the aches clinging to my joints as I gathered a handful of acrylic paints, three preferred brushes, and a trusty folded stool to take along to the gate waiting as a blank canvas on a palette ready to receive the very Spirit in me.  It is in this laboriously searching to create a vessel to renew the luster of words written to welcome each soul that I found respite, consolation, and determination to honor a church whose people chose to invite my father to be their priest.painted in the far away right side…I wish I had taken a close up.  There is a squirrel with a bushy tail in the lower left and two bobolinks in the tree, North American migratory blackbirds.

I used my father’s magnifying glass to see “the onion” church so dubbed because of the shape of its steeple.  It is barely visible.  It is painted in the far away right side…I wish I had taken a close up shot.  There is a squirrel with a bushy tail in the lower left and two bobolinks in the tree, North American migratory blackbirds.  Go figure. Keep Reading