It started with SA.
She was headed east, towards her performances during Austin's SxSW week when she experienced her injury - an incident that left her immobile, crutching around and healing for almost two months at her parent's place in Canada.
I came next - with my "accident" and similar need to focus on my personal healing and movement forward. "If I want to evolve, I have to heal," I spoke to sweet faces this now past weekend.
N soon followed on my heels - fracturing her heel while snowboarding in Tahoe. At Saturday night's saloon, she was the sexiest barroom babe leaning on a singular crutch.
Then, B had to go and twist her ankle on the only bone laying in a wide, open parking lot.
On Friday night, B shared, "Cara, I was thinking about you and how I wanted to reach out. Later that same day, D called and said that you were in the ICU for a rattlesnake bite." She then spoke of her newest piece of art. A gorgeous tattoo, it covers most of her upper back with an image of an outstretched Great Blue Heron, a coiled snake at its feet & a yellow rose blooming from the snake's spiraling center.
"Why the snake?" I inquired. "It came from a dream," she said. Shamefully fending off a river full of striking snakes, she asked the river guide why the slithering reptiles only had eyes for her. "Because you have to learn how to relax into yourself," he nonchalantly replied. So, she breathed in, jumped overboard and comfortably swam amongst them.
Last night, while dressing for the costume party, I happily placed a yellow, cloth rose that I've been using for three years now - ever since I first actively began this dance of marrying
local health wealth with global prosperity - into my hair. Later, while sitting in N's room and as she was readying for bed, DE wanted to share photos taken on his iPhone of his own, recent serpent encounter.
While sitting on a rock outcropping just a few feet above a Diamondback, he eventually recognized that the rattling sound he was hearing wasn't the wind through the trees. With his trusty pocket tool, he caught up close and personal images of an extremely agitated creature. Brilliant, copper red, the snake was defensively perched, with it's rattle in motion and sticking up above its coil as its head peered in the ready to strike mode.
My snake was none of this. It never rattled. It was a gorgeous Grey/Blue color and when I turned to look down to my left to inquire what the piercing sharpness in my lower calf could be from, it just laid there looking up me like, "Yeah. I did that." There was never any moment of disharmony, at least until I broke our reverie by screaming and diving back into the waist-high sage brush that I had just emerged from.
Now, I'm recognizing another angle of this story. My snake was a mirror of me - for it is just as T wrote, "You are a mirror for all of life around you, so you will attract into your life others as teachers." I've always known my essence, even as pain and suffering began wrapping its death grip around me. More than love, I am also harmony. I prefer to live my life feeling the wind across my face while listening to leaves rustling in the breeze and birds singing in the trees. I feel most alive, vibrant and free when the lyrics of love vibrate through me as I give voice to them through song and dance.
Others have been giving testament to how I now have potent medicine channeling through me and, today, I realized that, likewise, my Pacific Southwest Speckled Rattlesnake now has my blood coursing through it. It tasted human and I think, perhaps, the Universe has also decreed that its ready to evolve into one of US next time around. For, our shared evolution isn't just about Homo sapiens sapiens. "We're not alone here, folks! Never have been, and never will bee." In other words, the experience has been exactly what needed to happen for everyone involved. Complete and total LIBERATION!!
Monday, April 30, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
The Case of the Missing Earring
Last night, B and I were, of course, espousing upon our thoughts of LOVE. She's returned to San Diego living after a year away and a lifetime of change. Naturally, we found our friendship softening into the waters of time. Towards the end of our evening together, I shared that, perhaps, more than anything, LOVE is trusting that this moment now - this relationship and however it is unfolding - is exactly what is needed in order to pave the way for whatever is to come next. Thereby, letting go of any expectations for what is to arrive and simply honoring the process. It's easy to write and to intellectualize about, yet embodying this is where the challenge in growth lay.
Together, B and I share similar experiences with that most primal of relationships - the mother and daughter bond. Neither of us reflect our mother's values and it can create turmoil and tension between us. Since I've been staying at my parent's house, I have been consistently rubbing up against my mother's triggers, especially as they pertain to things. "You just don't care about things!" she'll accuse me of and, she's right, I don't.
I recall my travails with more indigenous peoples and how, in some locales, one, large family will share a singular, earthen pot that sits directly on a licking flame, day after day and night after night, preparing heaping plates full of corn meal, or rice, or whatever the local diet calls for. Upon these dirt floors, there is always room for more mouths to feed. Meanwhile, pleasure is derived from all of the scrapes, nicks and dents in the cooking utensil, for they are physical representations that mark the hand of time as well as the success of survival.
For me, personally, this is all that gives "things" meaning - the stories that surround them. So, this story is about the case of the missing earring. In my current Facebook profile photo, I'm wearing a pair of cowrie shell earrings that M purchased for me early on in our relationship. Sometimes, I think it's unfair that I refer to only him as my "ex." Sure, it is a truth - he'll always be my family because our four-year long relationship has forever marked my life. Heck, he taught me how to be a better person. It wasn't a fun lesson to learn, that's for freakin' sure, yet who I am today has so much to do with my deep intimacy with him. I am eternally grateful.
He saw both guys I had very brief flings with both before and after him and he loves to chide me about them today. "Geez, Cara!" he'll laugh. And, what can I say, but that sometimes we have to make unsavory choices in order to recognize either a path we've been missing out on or as a way out of a journey that no longer serves our highest good. I just shrug my shoulders and join in on the laughter. What else is there to do?
What he hasn't seen - and what the missing earring has - are the two loves that I have also danced with over the time frame of the past few years. I never mention them directly because there are a lot of stories that remain tucked neatly within the pages of my private journal. Though, as they and I both know, when I am bitten, my heart tends to pour forth copious amounts of poetry. Nonetheless, how to define a LOVE that isn't conventional in terms of labels or long lasting in the sense of deep intimacy? I don't know. And, there's another image that I wish to share here. It was taken of me last weekend while holding the infant son of high school classmates.
The baby boy's father showered me with abundant attention for years back in the early 90s. At the time, I was stuck in a place of such deep hurting all I could do was to receive his "anonymous" love selfishly but I could offer little to nothing in return. Yet, his pure affection was a balm for my weary soul and, to this day, I remain loyally grateful to his sweetness. Offering his son just a wee bit of attention was the way that I could, finally, reciprocate all that he had once given me. So, I trust that, even though the LOVE I offer will not always be reciprocated in the way that I wish it will be, those who receive it might just bee as loyal to me decades on down the road.
Together, B and I share similar experiences with that most primal of relationships - the mother and daughter bond. Neither of us reflect our mother's values and it can create turmoil and tension between us. Since I've been staying at my parent's house, I have been consistently rubbing up against my mother's triggers, especially as they pertain to things. "You just don't care about things!" she'll accuse me of and, she's right, I don't.
I recall my travails with more indigenous peoples and how, in some locales, one, large family will share a singular, earthen pot that sits directly on a licking flame, day after day and night after night, preparing heaping plates full of corn meal, or rice, or whatever the local diet calls for. Upon these dirt floors, there is always room for more mouths to feed. Meanwhile, pleasure is derived from all of the scrapes, nicks and dents in the cooking utensil, for they are physical representations that mark the hand of time as well as the success of survival.
For me, personally, this is all that gives "things" meaning - the stories that surround them. So, this story is about the case of the missing earring. In my current Facebook profile photo, I'm wearing a pair of cowrie shell earrings that M purchased for me early on in our relationship. Sometimes, I think it's unfair that I refer to only him as my "ex." Sure, it is a truth - he'll always be my family because our four-year long relationship has forever marked my life. Heck, he taught me how to be a better person. It wasn't a fun lesson to learn, that's for freakin' sure, yet who I am today has so much to do with my deep intimacy with him. I am eternally grateful.
He saw both guys I had very brief flings with both before and after him and he loves to chide me about them today. "Geez, Cara!" he'll laugh. And, what can I say, but that sometimes we have to make unsavory choices in order to recognize either a path we've been missing out on or as a way out of a journey that no longer serves our highest good. I just shrug my shoulders and join in on the laughter. What else is there to do?
What he hasn't seen - and what the missing earring has - are the two loves that I have also danced with over the time frame of the past few years. I never mention them directly because there are a lot of stories that remain tucked neatly within the pages of my private journal. Though, as they and I both know, when I am bitten, my heart tends to pour forth copious amounts of poetry. Nonetheless, how to define a LOVE that isn't conventional in terms of labels or long lasting in the sense of deep intimacy? I don't know. And, there's another image that I wish to share here. It was taken of me last weekend while holding the infant son of high school classmates.
The baby boy's father showered me with abundant attention for years back in the early 90s. At the time, I was stuck in a place of such deep hurting all I could do was to receive his "anonymous" love selfishly but I could offer little to nothing in return. Yet, his pure affection was a balm for my weary soul and, to this day, I remain loyally grateful to his sweetness. Offering his son just a wee bit of attention was the way that I could, finally, reciprocate all that he had once given me. So, I trust that, even though the LOVE I offer will not always be reciprocated in the way that I wish it will be, those who receive it might just bee as loyal to me decades on down the road.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
JOHN
leaning against a wooden cane,
tendrils of smoke pouring from between two fingers,
the nails of each hand long and dark stained,
john.
skin a thick, leather brown,
humorous drawl with a mischievous twinkle
remaining behind brown eyes,
the boy once in awhile comes out to play
as the man, now long consumed by the madness of the mind,
stays behind. "who you talkin' to, old man?" i chirp out
as he heartily laughs in response.
john.
another lifetime ago, i'd slink below the window pane,
on a yellow school bus headed north. my unruly curls,
testament to a teenage embarrassment, visible above the
faux-leather seats as noisome classmates never failed to point out,
"there's your uncle, cara!" once upon a time, strong, virulent and forward moving.
then, came decades spent sleeping on city sidewalks.
john.
this dance, ongoing and cyclical, as endless as time itself.
"it is what it is," the singer sings, too.
john,
like love,
a four-letter word.
tendrils of smoke pouring from between two fingers,
the nails of each hand long and dark stained,
john.
skin a thick, leather brown,
humorous drawl with a mischievous twinkle
remaining behind brown eyes,
the boy once in awhile comes out to play
as the man, now long consumed by the madness of the mind,
stays behind. "who you talkin' to, old man?" i chirp out
as he heartily laughs in response.
john.
another lifetime ago, i'd slink below the window pane,
on a yellow school bus headed north. my unruly curls,
testament to a teenage embarrassment, visible above the
faux-leather seats as noisome classmates never failed to point out,
"there's your uncle, cara!" once upon a time, strong, virulent and forward moving.
then, came decades spent sleeping on city sidewalks.
john.
this dance, ongoing and cyclical, as endless as time itself.
"it is what it is," the singer sings, too.
john,
like love,
a four-letter word.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
PAST
i didn't know i was broken,
until you came along.
puncturing my facade, we laughed in the face
of madness as your rocking canoe
attempted to carry me down my river
of tears. i didn't know then that two halves, temporarily sewn
or, even, maniacally grasping,
can never make a whole. an anchor is simply a weight
holding an object in place.
"but i'm an engine," you would declare, as the rebel in me
continually retorted, "we're not machines, you know?"
this pure heart isn't made of gold. it's soft and pink with millions of holes, as though the miniature
beak of the hummingbird poked through it. some say that this is the only way the light can get in.
all i know is that it's comprised of a distinct color brought to life only through the fluidity of love.
many lifeforms and experiences alight upon it, like the birds and the bees, sharing
a cross-pollination of that which has come before while sipping upon
its sweet nectar - the same alchemical process that the ancients have poetically
waxed upon for centuries. it's simply taken me thirty-five years to understand this.
now whole, i honor the past from which all of the breaking open came
as i gratefully dance through this present while intending a just and harmonious future,
for all.
there's nothing more.
until you came along.
puncturing my facade, we laughed in the face
of madness as your rocking canoe
attempted to carry me down my river
of tears. i didn't know then that two halves, temporarily sewn
or, even, maniacally grasping,
can never make a whole. an anchor is simply a weight
holding an object in place.
"but i'm an engine," you would declare, as the rebel in me
continually retorted, "we're not machines, you know?"
this pure heart isn't made of gold. it's soft and pink with millions of holes, as though the miniature
beak of the hummingbird poked through it. some say that this is the only way the light can get in.
all i know is that it's comprised of a distinct color brought to life only through the fluidity of love.
many lifeforms and experiences alight upon it, like the birds and the bees, sharing
a cross-pollination of that which has come before while sipping upon
its sweet nectar - the same alchemical process that the ancients have poetically
waxed upon for centuries. it's simply taken me thirty-five years to understand this.
now whole, i honor the past from which all of the breaking open came
as i gratefully dance through this present while intending a just and harmonious future,
for all.
there's nothing more.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Well-Rounded
 | |||
| This is how the Soular Power Brigade celebrates Earth Day |
This story begins in the same courtyard pictured above, seven years earlier.
It was my home, then - a condo located on Alabama Street where I launched my graduate school career, fell in love with my ex and bailed on a gig teaching art and theatre to an entire elementary school. I distinctly recall, at that time, the realization dawning on me that I could count - on both hands - the number of intimate friendships that I reveled in. Instinctively, I knew that as great as our modern technology is, virtual relating could never replace the real thing. It was a time of deep sorrow - I mourned the loss of intimacy while feeling stuck within an isolating anger. I resolved to make a change...
Years passed and I deepened into this here and now. I reclaimed my rightful place within local, dance communities and discovered both people and organizations that fed my bee-ing. I held tight to an unclear yet coalescing vision for a future, one that I felt though couldn't quite see, even as I continued to thrash around within my own self-imposed suffering. Perhaps, some habits are simply hard to break. Perhaps, all we really need is presence and the fortitude to gratefully accept this moment as the gift - no matter how difficult, challenging or hard it seemingly appears to be. Rounding our edges and softening our angles, perhaps all that is simply required of us is great patience and silent persistence. Holding on to our dreams, we bee-lieve in their fruition. After all, it's only a matter of time.
 |
| The Birds & the Bees |
Saturday, April 21, 2012
2 0 1 2
"we gonna rock that 2012..."
dragons hiss, primal fluidity spills
and a timeless tale plays out.
the cascabel slithers away,
after dealing its fateful blow,
yet most are remiss
to hear the deafening call.
the signs are ominous,
gravity's pull is too robust,
this evolution is more than any of us
could have imagined.
what resides on the other side,
only time will tell.
her voice echoing back from the beginning of time, she speaks,
"you know where this is leading,
cara."
this rhythmic heart plays its
sturdy song. this warm body vibrates
on the same note its been
singing, for years now.
the vision is clear,
the Universe demands
as he no longer allows for refusal or denial for
owls keep watch,
insects grab hold, and every moment is encased in meaning.
the messages are too potent to disregard. now is the time.
and the end of waiting is here.
patience has been a virtue. suspend your
immediate gratification and truth is just around the corner.
may it bee,
and so it is.
in'shala.
dragons hiss, primal fluidity spills
and a timeless tale plays out.
the cascabel slithers away,
after dealing its fateful blow,
yet most are remiss
to hear the deafening call.
the signs are ominous,
gravity's pull is too robust,
this evolution is more than any of us
could have imagined.
what resides on the other side,
only time will tell.
her voice echoing back from the beginning of time, she speaks,
"you know where this is leading,
cara."
this rhythmic heart plays its
sturdy song. this warm body vibrates
on the same note its been
singing, for years now.
the vision is clear,
the Universe demands
as he no longer allows for refusal or denial for
owls keep watch,
insects grab hold, and every moment is encased in meaning.
the messages are too potent to disregard. now is the time.
and the end of waiting is here.
patience has been a virtue. suspend your
immediate gratification and truth is just around the corner.
may it bee,
and so it is.
in'shala.
Friday, April 20, 2012
The Queen & the Bitch
I've been comfortably referring to myself as a "bitch" for years now. I'm not meaning a person who nags, complains and/or projects all of her shit onto others. I'm not one of those - I never have been and I don't plan on ever being one, either. (Typically, I'm way too allowing. Yet, this has been problematic in that I can swallow the yucky behavior of others only to then vomit it back out when I've been pushed too far.) Rather, what I'm referring to is a "female dog," or, rather, a leader of the pack.
Being an owner of two black labs, one female and one male, I, years ago, would tell both of them - though, especially Sweet Pea, our girl - "I'm the bitch around here. You hear me? Me." It's a simple assertion of my rightful place at the head of the throne. And, my firm assertion, as well as gentle strength, is the safe container that allows my dogs to fully express themselves, with ease and joy. When I own my inner "bitch," we all feel as though there is right in our world.
Last Sunday, while enjoying community moments in time and space on a dance floor, I owned this title of mine to a dear brother. His immediate response was, "Now, can you own your Queen just as easily as you can own your bitch, Cara?" Ha! Touche. However, if you know me, then you also know how thoroughly I enjoy a challenge. ; ) (Bring it!)
Years ago, I recognized a deep schism within me. There was the me who moves around a dance floor - smoothly, with grace and with complete abandon. On the dance floor, I sashay up to everyone and anyone and ask him or her to dance. I am "rejected" often, yet I never take it personally. I simply move on, into the next moment and beat. Conversely, I also noticed that there was an entirely different me out in the "real world." This person moved around in fear, continuously believing that she was being negatively judged by every passer-by. Finally, the insight dawned on me that I could simply apply the skills and tools I use on a dance floor to my movement out and about in my day-to-day life.
I have experienced such deep success with this simple shift that I can no longer relate to ideas of judging someone simply based on a first impression. My gaze always lands on beauty and love - no matter if you have a booger hanging out of your nose, are missing your legs, or are hundreds of pounds overweight. After all, the body is simply a container - I always choose to see Spirit. So, now I've recognized that, in order for me to own my Queen, I must allow that each and every person whose eyes land upon me will also see the very same as I always do when I am looking out - bee~auty and love.
There's nothing more.
Being an owner of two black labs, one female and one male, I, years ago, would tell both of them - though, especially Sweet Pea, our girl - "I'm the bitch around here. You hear me? Me." It's a simple assertion of my rightful place at the head of the throne. And, my firm assertion, as well as gentle strength, is the safe container that allows my dogs to fully express themselves, with ease and joy. When I own my inner "bitch," we all feel as though there is right in our world.
Last Sunday, while enjoying community moments in time and space on a dance floor, I owned this title of mine to a dear brother. His immediate response was, "Now, can you own your Queen just as easily as you can own your bitch, Cara?" Ha! Touche. However, if you know me, then you also know how thoroughly I enjoy a challenge. ; ) (Bring it!)
Years ago, I recognized a deep schism within me. There was the me who moves around a dance floor - smoothly, with grace and with complete abandon. On the dance floor, I sashay up to everyone and anyone and ask him or her to dance. I am "rejected" often, yet I never take it personally. I simply move on, into the next moment and beat. Conversely, I also noticed that there was an entirely different me out in the "real world." This person moved around in fear, continuously believing that she was being negatively judged by every passer-by. Finally, the insight dawned on me that I could simply apply the skills and tools I use on a dance floor to my movement out and about in my day-to-day life.
I have experienced such deep success with this simple shift that I can no longer relate to ideas of judging someone simply based on a first impression. My gaze always lands on beauty and love - no matter if you have a booger hanging out of your nose, are missing your legs, or are hundreds of pounds overweight. After all, the body is simply a container - I always choose to see Spirit. So, now I've recognized that, in order for me to own my Queen, I must allow that each and every person whose eyes land upon me will also see the very same as I always do when I am looking out - bee~auty and love.
There's nothing more.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
B O D Y mind
It's a gift - this now - in all the ways that it shows up. On Sunday, while spending time in beloved community in Encinitas, a relatively new friend shared with me her experience of our first meeting. She's a gorgeous, southern California yoga teacher who exudes positivity and she said to me, "You placed your hand on my belly and you said, "Love this belly!""
She explained how meaningful this was for her because of the guilt and shame that she, too, carries around about her body image. You can imagine my exasperation at seeing this beautiful reflection of light and love feeling less than because she thinks she is not the image of a pin-thin, straight illusion of two-dimensional beauty. I'm so tired of this story, for all of us. Now is the time that we shift this narrative - because it serves no one.
Three weeks ago, my mind was churning similar silly notions about the fat and curves that my body can take on. I rarely give voice to this, but I feel most vulnerable about my legs. Naturally, the Universe struck me down - that same day - in order to teach me perspective. By day's end, I was looking at two very different legs below me - side by side, my right leg displayed my natural balance of strength and softness as the other lacked a defined knee cap and looked like it belonged on the body of an obese person. "Thank you, God! I receive."
For almost a week, I sat in a bed - not moving very far except for when I finally graduated from using a bedpan to using the bedside commode. The following week after that, I pulled myself around, I crawled and I crutched. I also read an article in Parade Magazine about a young mother who was in a near-fatal airplane crash that left her body unrecognizably burned. I cried tears of deep empathy because I've never known such trauma, nor do I wish to. This three-week journey has been a walk in the park, and I'm grateful for every step.
So, how do we - as these divine leaders of the 21st century - craft a new tale that truly holds the reverence and regeneration of our Earth as its core value? We begin with our bodies and what we think about them. We no longer allow for a collective story that is steeped in abuse, delusion or imbalanced taking. Instead, we weave the connection between the care and regard we have for our planet with the way we love and honor the feminine (as well as the masculine, as our men are not immune to the propaganda) form. And, we carve out space for our voluptuous curves to remain exactly as they are. There shall be no more detonating these hills and mounds, because we will recognize that our diamonds are only pure when they remain exactly where they belong - nestled sweetly in a warm, dank soil.
She explained how meaningful this was for her because of the guilt and shame that she, too, carries around about her body image. You can imagine my exasperation at seeing this beautiful reflection of light and love feeling less than because she thinks she is not the image of a pin-thin, straight illusion of two-dimensional beauty. I'm so tired of this story, for all of us. Now is the time that we shift this narrative - because it serves no one.
Three weeks ago, my mind was churning similar silly notions about the fat and curves that my body can take on. I rarely give voice to this, but I feel most vulnerable about my legs. Naturally, the Universe struck me down - that same day - in order to teach me perspective. By day's end, I was looking at two very different legs below me - side by side, my right leg displayed my natural balance of strength and softness as the other lacked a defined knee cap and looked like it belonged on the body of an obese person. "Thank you, God! I receive."
For almost a week, I sat in a bed - not moving very far except for when I finally graduated from using a bedpan to using the bedside commode. The following week after that, I pulled myself around, I crawled and I crutched. I also read an article in Parade Magazine about a young mother who was in a near-fatal airplane crash that left her body unrecognizably burned. I cried tears of deep empathy because I've never known such trauma, nor do I wish to. This three-week journey has been a walk in the park, and I'm grateful for every step.
So, how do we - as these divine leaders of the 21st century - craft a new tale that truly holds the reverence and regeneration of our Earth as its core value? We begin with our bodies and what we think about them. We no longer allow for a collective story that is steeped in abuse, delusion or imbalanced taking. Instead, we weave the connection between the care and regard we have for our planet with the way we love and honor the feminine (as well as the masculine, as our men are not immune to the propaganda) form. And, we carve out space for our voluptuous curves to remain exactly as they are. There shall be no more detonating these hills and mounds, because we will recognize that our diamonds are only pure when they remain exactly where they belong - nestled sweetly in a warm, dank soil.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
INITIATION (is not a 4-letter word)
(This is for you, A.L.)
Apparently, among many indigenous cultures - including native American tribes - survival from a venomous snakebite can be worn like a brightly adorned headdress, indicating one's elevation upon a spiritual, as is the case for the Priestess, or social, much like a chief wears, level. I'm still wading through the terrain of my recent rebirth, thus I'd be in a rush to report upon anything other than what I've been learning about INITIATION.
For millennium, indigenous peoples honored the important markers of our human journey through this space time warp with rites of passage. These transcendental experiences were vital to our individual growth because they served to remind us of one important thing - we are more than the sum of these bodies and minds. While in a cultural studies class at Sonoma State University in the early 90's, I watched a mid-twentieth century film about a young tribesman's initiation into warriorhood. He was hung by his pectoral muscles from metal hooks and was left suspended off of the ground for painful hours. It sounds downright masochistic, doesn't it? And, yet, what this test ultimately had this man confronting was his fear of pain.
People keep inquiring as to whether or not the strike from the Cascabel caused me any pain. Pain is a funny thing - I teach about it quite often as I lead my "Primal Fluidity" Dance Classes. "Note the difference between discomfort and pain," I advise, as I, for example, breathe deeply into the discomfort of a 300 pound man sinking his weight into my chest. Yes, I certainly felt a stabbing in my lower leg of which I had never felt before. Then, when I noticed the snake, my adrenaline shot through the roof and the only feeling pumping through my bodymind was an absolute desire for survival and, thus, anti-venom. Once I reached help, I quickly grabbed hold of my own Self. "I am a Tai Chi Master," I loudly pronounced as I dropped deeply into my breath and the present moment.
The swelling of my leg, into abnormal proportions, and then the return of a normal blood flow through my highly contracted hip and calf muscles, made for extreme discomfort, yes. But, pain? No, pain always simply felt like a choice. Instead, I chose to bee present and exactly where I was - at the hospital, with poison in my blood and puncture wounds in my leg. Although I had books to read, paper to write on and a television to watch, I did "nothing." I simply was where I was - and, I wasn't bored, either. In one moment, I thought, "Uh-oh. Can I "succeed" at doing anything with this lack of drive to change my circumstances?" Trust then reminded me that I can allow the Universe to support me - in all ways.
What I've learned is that even the painful bites and brutal strikes of life aren't anything to fear - especially when who I am is not this container and it's surely not this identity. Who I am is so much bigger then what a singular revolution around one lifetime can succinctly give voice to. Unfortunately, we've been raised within a society that conditions us to believe otherwise. We're conditioned to believe that these BodyMinds are our Selves. As Americans today, we consider parties, weddings and funerals to now serve as fundamental rites of passage. Which is truly sad, because our loss of INITIATION - of remembering that there is nothing to fear but fear itself - is causing us great distress and dis-ease. It is our avoidance of short-term pain that ensures the longevity of our long-term suffering.
Apparently, among many indigenous cultures - including native American tribes - survival from a venomous snakebite can be worn like a brightly adorned headdress, indicating one's elevation upon a spiritual, as is the case for the Priestess, or social, much like a chief wears, level. I'm still wading through the terrain of my recent rebirth, thus I'd be in a rush to report upon anything other than what I've been learning about INITIATION.
For millennium, indigenous peoples honored the important markers of our human journey through this space time warp with rites of passage. These transcendental experiences were vital to our individual growth because they served to remind us of one important thing - we are more than the sum of these bodies and minds. While in a cultural studies class at Sonoma State University in the early 90's, I watched a mid-twentieth century film about a young tribesman's initiation into warriorhood. He was hung by his pectoral muscles from metal hooks and was left suspended off of the ground for painful hours. It sounds downright masochistic, doesn't it? And, yet, what this test ultimately had this man confronting was his fear of pain.
People keep inquiring as to whether or not the strike from the Cascabel caused me any pain. Pain is a funny thing - I teach about it quite often as I lead my "Primal Fluidity" Dance Classes. "Note the difference between discomfort and pain," I advise, as I, for example, breathe deeply into the discomfort of a 300 pound man sinking his weight into my chest. Yes, I certainly felt a stabbing in my lower leg of which I had never felt before. Then, when I noticed the snake, my adrenaline shot through the roof and the only feeling pumping through my bodymind was an absolute desire for survival and, thus, anti-venom. Once I reached help, I quickly grabbed hold of my own Self. "I am a Tai Chi Master," I loudly pronounced as I dropped deeply into my breath and the present moment.
The swelling of my leg, into abnormal proportions, and then the return of a normal blood flow through my highly contracted hip and calf muscles, made for extreme discomfort, yes. But, pain? No, pain always simply felt like a choice. Instead, I chose to bee present and exactly where I was - at the hospital, with poison in my blood and puncture wounds in my leg. Although I had books to read, paper to write on and a television to watch, I did "nothing." I simply was where I was - and, I wasn't bored, either. In one moment, I thought, "Uh-oh. Can I "succeed" at doing anything with this lack of drive to change my circumstances?" Trust then reminded me that I can allow the Universe to support me - in all ways.
What I've learned is that even the painful bites and brutal strikes of life aren't anything to fear - especially when who I am is not this container and it's surely not this identity. Who I am is so much bigger then what a singular revolution around one lifetime can succinctly give voice to. Unfortunately, we've been raised within a society that conditions us to believe otherwise. We're conditioned to believe that these BodyMinds are our Selves. As Americans today, we consider parties, weddings and funerals to now serve as fundamental rites of passage. Which is truly sad, because our loss of INITIATION - of remembering that there is nothing to fear but fear itself - is causing us great distress and dis-ease. It is our avoidance of short-term pain that ensures the longevity of our long-term suffering.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
SOUL MATE = four letter words
 | |||||
| "Soul Mates Dancing with their Shadows" - You're still my Soul Mate even as our way of relating shifts |
This now is powerfully potent. Most of US feel this and we're giving authentic voice to it - it's simultaneously exciting as well as overwhelming. As I see it, my Soul is burning with the same nuclear fusion that churns within our Sun. And, as I move through this world, I am naturally attracting other bright, burning souls. I call them "Soul Mates" - perhaps, too quickly. Though, when LOVE is one's compass, what is time but a fictional construct? However, in my blind rush to give all of this pure energy away, I have repeatedly hurt myself with my over-zealousness. Oops! ; )
I'd like to think that my last post was a palpable demonstration of how committed I am to my own wholeness. After all, what is more whole than balancing the two halves that make up the One? In deep gratitude, I have simultaneously had the opportunity to actively apply my personal healing to the organizations and individuals that I am currently working with.
Our shared vision is one of and for global transformation. Yet, how can any one of us transform the world unless we have fully committed to and are showing up for our own wounding and the work it requires to transmute it?
My forward movement in regards to my Divine Dance with Soul Mates, outside of myself, has now been crystallized - thanks, in part, to last weekend's full moon. My excitement for declaring new connections and my passion for sustaining dances that have already begun is now viewed from a clearer lens: I will only deepen my dance with those whom I share a larger vision with; a dream that is much bigger than the sum of our individuality. Because I'm learning that our compassionately expressed limitations and weaknesses, as well as our enthusiastically celebrated gifts and strengths, complement each other. When a focused intention on the larger picture is maintained - such as, the greatest good for all - we fluidly flow between receiving and giving, taking and allowing, and offering and honoring.
As a result, it's effortless. However, our ability to do this is deeply steeped within how in tune we are. Vibrating on the same frequency is the collective call for this Unity Consciousness. And, this is what I am 110% committed to because this is where I'm discovering reciprocity and equality in my relating. This wholeness includes expressing my boundaries and communicating, "No. Thank you," when my vision isn't shared and my relating isn't reflected, or mirrored. With this Eternal Flow of the Divine Masculine tumbling over and around the Divine Feminine within me, I've learned that it all comes down to this: HONEST PRESENCE & DEEP COMMITMENT.
There's nothing more.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
from GIVE & TAKE to offer and honor
 |
| Two weeks of HEALing ~ I'm not quite walking yet, though |
In my recent post on how "HARD" is a 4-Letter Word, I concluded my written piece by inferring how I was at 'fault' for my run-in with the Cascabel. Blame can be such an imbalanced response, however. Especially when my intuition tells me that this experience has been, to the contrary, very prosperous. As Gina shared with me this past weekend, "You were bitten by a rattlesnake during the 2012 Mayan Year of the Snake." After she left, I eagerly began researching and was naturally led to so much symbolism and meaning, that I was overcome with e~motion. Tears welled up within me because I don't "know" or "understand" the "Why?" yet, I sense potency, alchemy and magic. The power of this now is overwhelming. Thus, I must give form to Quetzalcoatl's name, the feathered serpent God of the MesoAmericas, who was revered for his commitment to the Urban Center as an intersection of Civilization and Culture. (I already had two brothers in my life who believe themselves to be the incarnation of Quetzalcoatl in this lifetime and, then, the Universe struck me down in order to blend the blood of my bird ancestry with the medicine of an Earth dwelling reptile. "Thank you, I receive.")
This past weekend also brought with it the powerful April 2012 Spring Full Moon. Since I'm here and I promised that I would focus on my whole bee-ing healing, I integrated (the symbolism of) its medicine into my life. What follows is a deep insight that I was blessed with while laying in the bathtub on Sunday. It's lengthy, but please read it. It's for US ("IT'S FOR US" - Marlon?!?!?!) and as I posted that day, "I WON'T GIVE UP ON US," - and who we are is an ongoing dance of the Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine flowing in harmony within each of these human containers.
The School of Shamanism offered an online full moon reflection, in which the following touched a chord deep within: "Chiron is opening wounds buried deep in the psyche offering an opportunity to clear anger and fear issues...This is the time to re-commit to our wholeness, to relationships that are equal and reciprocal and to a shared vision that is our point of growth...the feminine must first come into balance with itself and equally the masculine must come into healthy balance within itself before they can join and move into deep equality and cooperation we can feel."
So, I'm hurt - that's obvious - and I'm hurt because I'm so recklessly balanced within my imbalance. My imbalanced Divine Feminine teeters too far in the "GIVE, GIVE, GIVE" direction while my imbalanced Divine Masculine painfully pulls on the opposite side of the scale toward "TAKE, TAKE, TAKE." Two unhealthy by-products of our Divine imbalances are not showing up and too much allowing.
I'll even share more of my process so that you too can learn how to focus on the positive of healing & productive, forward movement while releasing playing the victim, by taking anything personally, as well as any feelings of shame, fault or guilt. In Louise Hay's You Can Heal Your Life, I looked up "why" my middle, right finger has a wart in the middle of it. Hay believes that "warts are tiny expressions of hate and a belief in ugliness" and that "our middle finger represents sex and anger."
I had to then look at why I am angry in regards to men and sex and, obviously, I can only look at my experiences. Which led me to ask myself, "Why do I, deep down, believe I am ugly so I keep reinforcing this story of mine with the choices I make?" By the way - just so you don't feel sympathy - intellectually, I "get" that I am gorgeous. ; )
In my personal dance of intimacy with the take take taking of the wounded masculine, I experience how my wounded feminine keeps give, give, giving (my love, affection, attention, resources, time, energy, etc.) away to others, organizations and, even, experiences. My wounded feminine allows myself to not be shown up for, neither emotionally nor physically, while my wounded masculine allows for my not showing up for myself in asking and taking what is truly in my heart and is my purpose for being here on Earth, now.
And, without blame, I recognize how I can TAKE TAKE TAKE from our dear Mother Earth her precious resources, sucking fossil fuels and other natural elements from her whole, with an air of entitlement and a complete disregard for how I will simply throw pieces of her out when I am done with them. I also reflect on all the years I spent not showing up - to the present moment, by releasing thoughts of the past or visions of the future; to my word, by following through on doing what I would say I would do; and, even, to my heart, by not authentically expressing what's there for me with simple words, like "I love you," as well as palpable actions that demonstrate my declaration.
All of this not showing up creates a condition of too much allowing - I allow myself off the hook. Instead of being in integrity with my commitment to my highest good, I allow myself to show up to work that doesn't feed my soul but fattens my pockets; I allow for sexual intimacy with others who my heart doesn't sing for; and I allow my warrior nature to be silenced and conditioned rather than battling, here on Earth, now, for that which is true and right - love, peace and harmony.
In my divine feminine imbalance of giving it all away, I also create a condition of too much allowing - I allow for relationships that are not reciprocal or equal even when the flashing light bulb of intuition clearly illuminates the obvious ("but it's love," she cries,); I allow disrespectful behavior and communication ("but everything is a mirror, and I too have sown bad karma," her wise soul speaks,); and I allow that "I can do it all" because I/she has never really been supported, honored or revered so she doesn't recognize that not only can she not do it alone, but that she can do it peacefully and harmoniously in loving relationships.
All of her giving and all of his taking creates deep, rocking turbulence. Anger, like spewing volcanoes, colliding continents and seismic tidal waves, unfurls - on both sides. Her lack of boundaries and unexpressed needs has her emotionally blowing her lid - like an annoying, screaming teapot left on the burning stove top for way too long. Her pure, heart song of Divine Feminine Love becomes a warbled, incessant pitch of neediness and pain - forcing the steam out of her spout, she alchemizes the fluidity of love into an invisible gas with her red hot rage.
And, he doesn't stick around long enough to help her shift from the high, unsustainable temperature that will most assuredly deplete her Source. Instead, he's running off - to other women, to business travels or to drown in substances. He's absent, physically and emotionally. He doesn't show up. He allows her imbalance and then blames her for her rage.
In his denial of his Divine Masculine purpose, which is his ongoing pursuit of freedom and is discovered in the wind in his hair as he pursues the required hunt of sustenance and sustainability for his tribe; in the gentle, nurturing love of the Divine Feminine that is the container he can melt into; and in the expansiveness of his Spirit as the clarity of his vision stands, tall and erect, in the face of the unknown and, shoulder to shoulder, with his band of brothers, his Soul wanes.
All of his imbalanced allowing creates an existence of noxious comfort as he fills his stomach to bursting with food and alcohol; his hands with petroleum-based toys and technology; and his mind with the notion that "this isn't enough." He must have more, more, more. Thus, he runs after the newest fads and the latest gadgets. He's running fast, from moment to moment, fleeing any discomfort, and escaping the confrontation of his fears.
His warrior nature mistakes this movement as the forward momentum once used in both hunting and defending but his Spirit droops. Because no matter how much he takes, and no matter how much he is given, it is never enough. It never will be. For he has forgotten how to give - how to, with his own two hands, build the homestead and erect the village; he's dismissed his initiation into manhood by going mano a mano with his nightmare's scariest beast; and he's long forsaken the rituals of ceremony that honor and revere what is being taken.
THE BALANCE MUST BE RIGHTED ONCE MORE.
And, guess what? All of this He/She, Masculine/Feminine, Give/Take, Allow/Receive is a delicate dance that must find equilibrium within each one of U.S. As much as my silly, little mind may desire to create specific faces to this writing, the only face that is only and ever here is "CARA." (Which is a 4-Letter word and, in Spanish, can mean "face.")
Sunday, April 8, 2012
to be (re-)BORN is a four-letter word (HAPPY EASTER)
"When I look into your eyes
It's like watching the night sky
Or a beautiful sunrise
There's so much they hold
And just like them old stars
I see that you've come so far
To be right where you are
How old is your soul?
I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up...
I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
The tools and gifts we got yeah, we got a lot at stake
And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend
For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in
I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not
And who I am
I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up
Still looking up...
I won't give up on us
God knows I'm tough enough
We've got a lot to learn
God knows we're worth it." --Jason Mraz
P.S. The title of my blog, "Love is a Four Letter Word," was a response to a Facebook conversational thread that I participated in, at the end of December 2011, in which a reflection on the the word "LOVE" - as having created, perhaps, more detriment in the world than good - was offered by a young man I had just met in person.
When I first heard Jason's pop song played on the radio, my soul was immediately filled with pure light and high vibration as his beautifully sung words rang throughout my BodyMind. Then, months later, while sitting in a hospital bed, this video came across the screen. I pleasantly found myself warmly smiling as the faces of Americans looking the turbulence of change in the eye flashed.
Art
=
LOVE as also a palpable demonstration of HOPE.
That was when I first discovered that Mr. Mraz named his newest album, due out April 17th and of which this song is featured on,
"Love is a Four Letter Word."
Touché.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
(Love - & Healing - is) HARD
~ like a vinyl dance floor you knock your head against after slipping to a fall.
~like an erect phallus seeking an entrypoint.
~like a parent-child relationship.
~like the feel of my left leg when fluid filled it to bursting.
~like watching the big hand tick by on a clock when you're struggling to stay awake.
~like intimacy and communicating clearly one's boundaries & expectations.
~like the trunk of an all-seeing Aspen tree.
~like an immovable block that you continually choose to see in your Bodymind's eye.
~like Radical Self Love where - in most moments in time - you show up to loving yourself just as you would bee loved.
~like maintaining positive focus on something inside (of one's self, for example).
HARD.
Watching that Full Moon as it rose over a hill from the comfort of a bed, EASY.
Integrating this April 2012 Full Moon Medicine into my Life, which asks that I commit to my wholeness, to relationships that are equal and reciprocal and to a shared vision that is our point of growth, now seems "hard" because I feel as though, in order to make clear - from my heart - that this is what I'm committed to then, I must revisit one of my last statements. Can I bee so committed to my Self that I say a simple, "No, thank you." in ALL of the directions where intuition whispers in my ear," Really, Cara? You want to take the risk and go down this path?" Which is exactly what happened five minutes before I began my fateful journey nearly two Tuesdays ago. Minutes later, I am asking one of the teenaged boys who dropped me outside of the ER what he thought of "risk taking. "Go For It!," he sweetly said, as the cutest smile on the most adorable face grinned from ear to ear.
YES, AND...
I was unconsciously tromping through waist-high sage brush in pursuit of something outside of myself on that day.
Hmmm... lemme reflect on this.
~like an erect phallus seeking an entrypoint.
~like a parent-child relationship.
~like the feel of my left leg when fluid filled it to bursting.
~like watching the big hand tick by on a clock when you're struggling to stay awake.
~like intimacy and communicating clearly one's boundaries & expectations.
~like the trunk of an all-seeing Aspen tree.
~like an immovable block that you continually choose to see in your Bodymind's eye.
~like Radical Self Love where - in most moments in time - you show up to loving yourself just as you would bee loved.
~like maintaining positive focus on something inside (of one's self, for example).
HARD.
Watching that Full Moon as it rose over a hill from the comfort of a bed, EASY.
Integrating this April 2012 Full Moon Medicine into my Life, which asks that I commit to my wholeness, to relationships that are equal and reciprocal and to a shared vision that is our point of growth, now seems "hard" because I feel as though, in order to make clear - from my heart - that this is what I'm committed to then, I must revisit one of my last statements. Can I bee so committed to my Self that I say a simple, "No, thank you." in ALL of the directions where intuition whispers in my ear," Really, Cara? You want to take the risk and go down this path?" Which is exactly what happened five minutes before I began my fateful journey nearly two Tuesdays ago. Minutes later, I am asking one of the teenaged boys who dropped me outside of the ER what he thought of "risk taking. "Go For It!," he sweetly said, as the cutest smile on the most adorable face grinned from ear to ear.
YES, AND...
I was unconsciously tromping through waist-high sage brush in pursuit of something outside of myself on that day.
Hmmm... lemme reflect on this.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Asking for HELP (is a 4-Letter Word) & Tools for Guiding Us in this Now
"When I don't ask for help,
I withdraw the opportunity for others to grow."
"Can my love bee so expansive, then, that I am just as committed to the
growth of others as I passionately am to myself?"
YES!
I withdraw the opportunity for others to grow."
"Can my love bee so expansive, then, that I am just as committed to the
growth of others as I passionately am to myself?"
YES!
TIME heals HURT
 | ||
| The Scales of a Love Bruise (or, a picture of the inside of my left calf) |
The healing that the past week and a half has offered has not simply been personal. It's also been an opportunity to heal some of the rifts in my relationships with others where I have behaved defensively and I have emotionally struck out. What Rattlesnake taught me is that s/he was only doing what it needed to, in that moment. How could I ever judge it adversely for its actions? It follows, then, that I can forgive myself for unintentionally hurting others.
People inquire if I am going stir-crazy but visitors have been dropping by my parent's house regularly. One afternoon offered an opportunity for healing between my ex and myself. He looks freakin' amazing, like a strong, healthy man, and I felt the tears rising during his visit. I waited for his exit for them to spill, however, as I checked in with myself. "Why are you sad, Cara?" I inquired, because my heart feels happiness for his wedding engagement and how physically vibrant he now is.
I cried, fat, copious tears, because I felt so sad that I couldn't offer him the gentle, nurturing love of my Divine Feminine from our get go. Mistakenly, people all too often point their fingers at me and claim, "Courageous," but one of my truths is that I am as cowardly a lion as the Wizard of Oz produced. My fear, and my refusing to act because I am afraid, continually bites me - though not necessarily always in the butt. ; )
Thus, the release of all of this has been a shedding of skin that has been long in the coming.
In all of my recent reflecting on "LOVE," what I keep coming back to is the recognition that we are each in our own places of bee-coming and that we can only offer what we can ~ given where we are. The question then becomes, "Can I let go of my desire and expectations of reciprocation from this specific reflection and simply trust that it will come back to me when, and from where, it is divinely meant to?" Of course I can.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
FU¢K (a commercial break because all of the healing talk is gettin' heavy)
 |
| To objectify? - That is the question. |
(Or,
a reminder - )
Neither
SEX
nor Business
Equals
Friendship.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
HEAL is a 4-Letter Word
 |
| I had the audacity to judge the size of the right leg earlier on this day. |
heal
2. to bring to an end or conclusion, as conflicts between people or groups, usually with the strong implication of restoring former amity; settle; reconcile: They tried to heal the rift between them but were unsuccessful.
3. to free from evil; cleanse; purify: to heal the soul.
Long overdue tears came, so I sat with the bee-auty.
Experiencing deep sadness at how, in our sometimes reckless pursuits of "Love," we can unintentionally rip. Tearing in to one another's hearts, we pull at the seams of our souls as though we are just worn, decades-old blankets.
Experiencing deep sadness at how, in our sometimes reckless pursuits of "Love," we can unintentionally rip. Tearing in to one another's hearts, we pull at the seams of our souls as though we are just worn, decades-old blankets.
It hurts.
Like the elephantitis of the left leg I experienced when, from my left hip to my left toes my body ballooned up and out in response to the venomous bite of a cascabel.
"Why do you think this happened?" he asks.
It's a re-occuring question and I've refrained from jumping on to a karmic bandwagon or an analytical rationalization. "I don't know," is my answer. So, tonight, I'm calling upon my own power to heal my life. I'll only offer a few tastes here so that I inspire you to do the same for your life. (If you are currently experiencing any chronic pain or ongoing ailments. If you do not suffer, wow! Bless you!!!)
from Ted Andrews' Animal Speak
Snake Medicine can represent rebirth, resurrection, initiation and wisdom.
To the Native Americans the snake is a symbol of transformation & healing.
In Greece, the snake was a symbol of alchemy & healing.
Because the snake sheds its skin, the snake has long been a symbol of death and rebirth.
When snake shows up in your life, examine what is going on around you.
Are you needing to make changes but aren't for some reason? (Yes.)
Are you striking out at people and shouldn't? (Yes.)
Are you not striking and should? (Yes.)
Remember that a snake also bites for defense.
What is needing to be healed? (ME!)
What new opportunities are surfacing that you need to strike out for and take advantage of? (Many.)
Snakes are the symbol of change and healing. When snake comes into your life, you can look for a rebirth into new powers of creativity and wisdom.
from Louise Hay's You Can Heal Your Life
On Accidents:
Accidents are no accident. They can represent an inability to speak up for the self, among other things.
Our legs carry us forward in life. Issues involving our lower legs can represent a fear of the future and not wanting to move.
So, I figured that while I'm here, I'll look at my other ailments, too.
After all, to
HEAL is -
HEAL is -
LIKE LOVE -
a 4-Letter Word.
BITE is a Four-Letter Word
 |
| This is what I went looking for last Tuesday "The gauge of a good poem is the size of the love bruise it leaves on your neck. Or the size of the love bruise it can paint on your brain. Or the size of the love bruise it can weave into your Soul. Or, indeed, it could be all of the above." --Hafiz |
 | |
| And this is what I found - a Southwestern Pacific Speckled Rattlesnake |
Some bites are soft, and rendered in the most sensual of ways. Aiming to please, their love bruises
are worn like medals hung behind an unbuttoned collar of a workday's shirt the very next day.
Some bites are long lasting. Breathing into the supple skin on the nape of the neck, they are meant to derive pleasure while heightening one's state of awareness. Other bites are lightning quick, and deeply penetrating. They come out of nowhere and serve simple to defend - territory, or one's private sense of well-being. They too are long lasting, as swollen skin and tender muscles work hard to regenerate the harmony that once existed. Neither better nor worse, both just simply are - reminders of the abundant joy as well as the excruciating pain that this being human endeavors. Good luck, bad luck, who knows?
So, I went looking for a cave last week. It's a secret dwelling place that this wild heart has held dear for over twenty years. I wasn't expecting to discover the bite of a rattlesnake on this day, but isn't that how the cookie crumbles? To be clear, I do not find the experience just now had as unfortunate, whatsoever - natural encounters with the real world are what this inimitable spirit craves. Rather, what I've found over the short course of this past week is LOVE. Always, LOVE. Imagine that? A sinking into what has always been and a release of what will never be. What I've learned, through this process, is that I can let go - even more - of all of the petty, little expectations. I can allow that the LOVE that I have been giving has been and is amazing because it is the exact reflection of the LOVE that I wish to receive. Now, all there is to do is surrender myself to it and receive it in return.
¡Gracias a Dios!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)