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Namaste,
A gifted reader and friend once told me that I would live in a foreign country in a house on a hill overlooking the ocean. She saw the house as Mediterrean style, whitewashed by sunshine with an inner courtyard. Because I adore Mexico, for years I thought it would be Mexico as I have often travled there.
- Puerta Vallarta, Mexico
Greece is also a favorite of mine. The mainland and the islands are joyous to me and I often imagined it to be a Greek Island. My first visit to Athens in 1978 was like coming home as I walked the streets it was as though I knew where to go and identified what alleyways to take as shortcuts through the ancient city. I seemed to know the city well although I was traveling there for the first time.
Santorini, Greece
Returning to Greece each time I feel like I am returning home. Nafplion on the mainland about a two-hour drive from Athens, on the Peloponnese penisula resonated with me in the same way as Athens. It happened by chance that I went there with my son in 2009 as an afterthought. Like all who travel to the islands, I love the beauty of Santorini and it’s volcano. The first time I visited we anchored in the harbor and I went uphill by donkey and walked back down to the port in the evenings to board a private yatcht. Now on my last couple of visits there has been the cable car. My son and I loved Mykonos, also. What is there not to love?
Mykonos, Greece
Mykonos, Greece
Why does this happen? I don’t live on an island or beside the sea. Most everything the same reader has told me has happened. Still, I live in the desert. The reader also told me that I return to America when I am very old. Time is flying by and pray tell. . . when is old? Am I invested in the outcome? Maybe in the beginning I was dreaming and fantazing of a life I did not have. I do love to travel but my life in America is filled with family, friends, and happiness. I do not speak Spanish well nor can I say but two words in Greek. I was engaged to a Greek fellow in Seattle many years ago and with true serendipity, Greek people and opportunities involving Greece come into my life and consciousness often in the form of Greek friends every where I go. However, I have no plans to sell my house and leave for Greece.
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Door of Mykonos
Door of Mykonos
I have learned to no longer invest in the outcome of my destiny; it is the process not the outcome that is the journey.
Instead, I try to live in the moment. It does take some practice. We plan, we fantasize, we imagine, we manifest. Our logical mind sets up the scenario that we want to happen and we hold that image so powerfully that we invest emotionally in the outcome of our desired intent. When it does not happen, we are disappointed. We try not to plummet into despair and create a state where the dark night of the soul dwells.
Nafplion, Greece
Hearing that prediction so long ago by another trusted reader, I took it as a reminder to see all the places I long to visit and if the opportunity for change beckons to to me I will recognize the opening and make my decision at that moment. Whether it is life on an island, a dream of love, or simply being in state of bliss, I am ready.
Enjoy
the Journey!
Susan
EVENTS: APRIL 8, 2010
Join me tonight April 8, 2010 at 8:00 pm MT from Phoenix AZ, on blogtalkradio.com with Deidre Howard and her show “Epiphany.” I am the guest tonight and would love to hear from you.
Deidre is a talented host, psychic healer, documentary film producer and extaordinary lady. The link for the show is http://www.blogtalkradio.com/epiphany
Call in at 646-915-8080 to say “hello” or ask a psychic question.
VIEWPOINTS
Namaste,
Happy New Year 2010
Every January my clients ask me, “What are your New Year’s resolutions”? Like so many of us have done in the past I made my resolutions and fell short of my goals thinking I had plenty of time to do the impossible. But now I focus on who I want to be for the year. It is like starting all over again and wiping the slate clean with a new start. Do I want to be the me of years past or do I want to incorporate some new changes into my life.
In recent years first, I simply think about what I want in my life in the New Year. This year I want to be healthier, prettier, richer, wiser, smarter, more compassionate, more spiritual and the best “reader” I can be. I have also chosen the word “creativity” as my 2010 mantra. That about covers it all.
Secondly, I find it best to “set my intent” for the changes I want in my life. There are many ways to set one’s intent. The shelves are lined with books by coaches, therapists and spiritual gurus discussing the idea. For me simplicity is the key.
I wake up and choose to be joyful.
I meditate every morning as soon as I awake.
I enjoy my swim workout and my aerobics and once again (thank you God) my long walks and my new phase of Tai Chi.
I think about good food and collect wonderful recipes that are nutritious and I shop carefully in order to cook healthy meals for myself every day.
I forfeit items and services I do not need and save money.
I read more literary books and continue my monthly Book Club.
I continue to meet with my writer’s group and take their criticism to heart.
I finish the books I am writing, at least one of them.
I am a better friend.
My intention is now set.
Blessed Be!
.
Susan
News Articles
Namaste,
In 2008 I visited Vietnam with my artist friend Caroline http://www.carolineorner.com and we were interviewed by Tracey Teo a freelance travel writer. The article was later published and I want to share it with you. Tracey is currently working on a documentary about the Smoky Mountains in the US. You can follow Tracey on Twitter.
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Posted on Sun, Apr. 27, 2008
My Creation!
Asian cruise lets foodies to learn to cook Vietnamese cuisine
By Tracey Teo
Special to the Herald-LeaderTracey Teo
The Vietnam Cookery Center in Ho Chi Minh City
HO CHI MINH CITY, Vietnam –
Susan Stockton Koss and Caroline Orner are on a gastronomic odyssey, eating their way through Vietnam as the cruise ship Rhapsody of the Seas sails down the country’s coastline. But Ho Chi Minh City is what the friends have their hearts and palates set on.
Orner lives in Hagerstown, Md., which has no Vietnamese restaurants, so to satisfy her craving for those sweet, salty and sour flavors unique to Vietnamese food, she wants to learn to cook it herself.
That’s why she’s at the Vietnam Cookery Center. For her, this is the highlight of a new Asian itinerary offered by Royal Caribbean’s during a 12-day cruise that originates in Hong Kong, includes stops in Vietnam, Thailand and Cambodia, and ends in Singapore.
Vietnamese is my favorite Asian food, Orner says. If you don’t live in a big city like New York, it’s hard to find. After today, I’ll be able to make Vietnamese food by myself and won’t have to search for it.
Stockton Koss lives in Phoenix, where Vietnamese food is more readily available, but she also is determined to master the culinary arts of Vietnam.
About 20 other passengers of various nationalities have chosen this shore excursion from the numerous Ho Chi Minh City tours offered.
The students are seated in pairs at small bamboo tables, each with a miniature gas stove. Orner and Stockton Koss are trying to identify ingredients inside the delicate blue and white bowls. After their “field trip to the market this morning, they think they should know what’s what, but after some discussion, they can’t agree.
During the visit to Ben Thanh Market, the group was introduced to foods common to Vietnamese cuisine. Vegetables like elephant ear and morning glory the vegetable, not the flower are as ordinary to a Vietnamese cooks as iceberg lettuce and spinach to an American homemaker, but quite extraordinary to most Westerners.
The market has many varieties of fresh fish, sometimes really fresh: alive and swimming in the tank. If you want fish in Vietnam, simply look for the conical hats. Under those hats are fishmongers, sitting on stools so low they appear to be squatting on the ground. Point to the fish you want, and what was swimming in the ocean that morning will be on your dinner table that night.
When chef Nguyen Thai Binh announces (through a translator) that it’s time to make the first course, lotus stem salad with pork and shrimp, Orner and Stockton Koss are all studious attention. Don’t worry, he says. If you can’t find lotus stems at home, you can substitute cucumbers or other vegetables.
With the patience of Buddha, the chef guides his culinary disciples through basic Vietnamese cooking techniques for the next hour. He encourages students to eat with all five senses, incorporating colorful presentation, contrasting textures, and a variety of scents and flavors into every dish.
It wouldn’t be Vietnamese food without a healthy dose of nuoc mam, or fish sauce that is made of fermented anchovies and is notorious for its pungent odor. A Canadian in the group holds her teaspoon of fish sauce at arm’s length and turns her face as she pours it into the salad dressing. After much cajoling, her husband persuades her to taste it. She discovers that when the sauce is properly mixed with sugar and lime juice, the odor disappears, and the result is a delicious, slightly salty, slightly sweet salad dressing that is naturally fat-free. The flavors are as carefully balanced as rice baskets on the shoulder poles of Vietnamese farmers.
Much more than “pho’
By the end of the class, everyone has successfully completed a three-course meal: lotus stem salad, sour fish soup and caramel fish in a clay pot. Orner and Stockton Koss savor their Vietnamese feast as well as the companionship of their fellow foodies. They marvel that there is a whole world of Vietnamese food that goes well beyond pho (pronounced “fuh-UH”), the ubiquitous beef-and-noodle soup that’s so popular in American Vietnamese restaurants.
One thing that makes Vietnamese food so attractive to Orner and Stockton Koss is that it is flavorful without artery-clogging fat and excess calories. Many dishes have been influenced by Vietnam’s neighbor to the north, China, but they are usually not batter-coated and deep-fried.
Stockton-Koss, a seasoned traveler who has taken cooking classes around the world, says this was one of the most memorable.
“I have been to cooking schools at the Ritz in Paris and the Oriental Hotel in Bangkok, Stockton- Koss says. This was by far the most individualized and interactive, quaint almost, even with translators.
As the group boards the bus that will take them back to the cruise ship, the talk turns to how everyone will try out their new recipes when they return home.
Orner is planning an elaborate Vietnamese dinner party.
I’m going to wear my ao dai that I had made in Nha Trang, she said, referring to the traditional Vietnamese dress.
And I’m going to make this dinner for my family and friends, she says with the confidence gained from having just earned a cooking certificate from an authentic Vietnamese chef.
Susan
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VOODOO IN PARADISE
Please donate to the people of Haiti by giving to a reputable charity.
Kiki, Donatella, & Susan
The ticket taker at Lynx Aviation in Florida took my airline ticket for Haiti and called out my name, prompting me to stand on the luggage rack to be weighed as a passenger, for the aircraft.
“1#$ lbs, female” the man called down the line to his female comrade at the end of the counter who logged the record in a large black ledger, for the Captain of the aircraft. Eeeek! Weights and balances I understood, but to be so indiscreet!
Next to Donatella’s ninety–nine pound weight, whose weigh-in preceded mine, I felt like an elephant as we were herded down the jet way.
“Oh darling, don’t worry it took a month of dieting to get under 100 pounds.” she quipped in her alluring Italian accent. I glanced at Kiki my other traveling companion, as she smirked to control her laughter. Another well shaped “skinny” woman, I muttered to myself.
Soon we were aboard the small aircraft and high in the clouds on our way to Haiti. The sky was a brilliant blue and with the promise of a week in the sun we were jubilant.
Donatella was fidgety,” I can not wait to see Jean Bernard, I miss him so, I love him,” she lamented for the fifth time. “He is such a sweetheart.”
As the Captain lowered the Fairchild Metroliner III, I could see the beach and a narrow strip of concrete gleaming like a bike trail out from the mass of green foliage surrounding the landing strip for Cap Haitian, Haiti’s most northern city. The amazing white sand of the beach had not a body on it and my heart raced to hear the sound of waves, the smell of salt air, and solitude. I heard the landing gear disengage and shortly we were on the runway. All nineteen passengers cheered.
Pungent body odor, carried by the trade winds and a hint of frangipani whirled in my nostrils as we deplaned and ran for the makeshift hangar to clear customs and find the ladies room since our three hour flight from Florida was in an aircraft without a “facility.”
“What, no bottled water and no food, What would we do in a bathroom “emergency?”
On a whim Kiki had called me, asking,” didn’t you tell me once that you longed to go to Haiti? Well I am going; do you want to join me and Donatella?
“Yes,” I shrieked, when?
Sun, friends, beach, swimming and lying in a hammock with no phone, no TV, no e-mail and no work, I could not resist the invitation to stay at the Hotel Cormier Plage situated on a cove facing the sea.
Jean Claude, Kathy, and her son Jean Bernard were each uniquely different and amazing hosts. French by origin they had been in Haiti for almost twenty years and still seemed to posses that unique French flair from their fabulous cooking to their colorful tropical style.
The Land Rover made its way from the main town through the roads with potholes that rivaled our nation’s Capital. All the unrest I had read about was nowhere to be found. Tin corrugated shacks lined the roadside mixed with buildings once beautiful but now crumbling with the architecture of a colonial past. The aggression I had read about associated with the poverty and violence of Haiti was nowhere to be found. Instead, everywhere I looked I felt serenity, peacefulness and the happiness of acceptance in smiling faces.
Wide eyed black-skinned children waived at us and called out to Jean-Bernard who came to the airport to collect us. Donatella thrilled to see him sat in the front and gushed sweet lovers talk the entire way to the hotel.
Donatella & Jean Bernard
We headed south toward the cove and as we climbed inward from the sea and through the mountains we passed villages where woman knelt in dresses or skirts to scrub their family’s cloths in the springs that traveled down the mountainside and out to sea. Bright, yellow, blue and orange colored cotton dresses and boy’s shorts and shirts in hues of green and blue sizes big to small were spread on the banana leaves covering the dark green jungle leaves like spotted leopards.
Kathy,owner of Cormier Plage and daughter Pascale and friends.(2002)
We settled in at Cormier Plage Hotel on the beach amidst lush tropical gardens of bougainvillea and vegetation with bursts of yellow and red on the plants that were mostly variants of green.
My room was just a few feet from the sand facing the sea. My balcony held two large wicker chairs and a rectangular wooden coffee table barely large enough to hold a book, my evening tea, (or wine) and bare feet.
After a delightful lunch of fresh grilled red snapper cooked to perfection served under a bamboo roofed dining room in the open air facing the ocean, I knew I was in the right place. Lobster, sea urchins, sauces and desserts prepared only the way the French know how, were the order of the day. The conversation drifted from French, to Italian and then English for me.
Jean Claude Owner of Cormier Plage
But I was soon to be challenged from my hammock. Jean- Bernard at my coaxing had been working with the locals from Cap to see if we could do what I had only dreamed. I had always longed to attend an authentic voodoo ceremony in a real village with real people, no tourists, as the only invited guests. After a few days of negotiations and our agreement to make a payment for the rum to be consumed by the Voodoo Priest, and four chickens to feed the crowd, and a few incidentals paid to the right folks, we were set for the ceremony. The day arrived and we were apprehensive.
Donatella suggested, “maybe we should forget the whole idea, what if something happens and we can’t control it, I am getting nervous.” I was determined to attend.
Only a few stars glittered in the inky sky. We traveled for miles past Cap bumping along on rutted dirt roads, in the Land Rover with Jean-Bernard, Donatella, myself, Kiki and our local guide, a leftover member of the ton ton macoute, from Duvalier’s regime (Papa Doc) whose name escaped me in the translated introduction. Jean Bernard trusted him and he had arranged the logistics of our night into the most fascinating of all Haitian traditions the Voodoo Ceremony.
Kiki, Donatella and I were disoriented after we left Cap and could not tell what direction we were headed. We could hear distant drumming and as it grew steadily louder the guide asked Jean-Bernard to stop the car, The two of them left us sitting in the land Rover. Jean Bernard cautioned us only once. “Stay in the car.No matter what, do not get out of the car. Understood. No matter what happens, someone will come for you, remain in the car if I do not return.” We stayed glued to our seats.
Kiki took my hand and began in a frail voice,
“Hail Mary full of grace
The Lord is with Thee. . .”
What’s going on in there? Are you chanting? Get out of the car.” Jean-Bernard was pounding on the window trying to open the door which we had locked. “We are three scared former Catholic school girls reciting our prayers,” Donatella murmured.
“For God’s sake get a grip. You all agreed to do this.” Jean Bernard could see that we were holding hands and truly frightened. We were surrounded by blackness, no lights in the distance, no lights or houses or at least none with electricity as Jean Bernard helped from the car.
“Remember what we talked about this afternoon. Do not engage yourself into the ceremony. Even if you are taken up to dance, come back to your place and sit in the plastic chairs I have insisted they bring for us. We are the only guests and the only non Haitians here. We are privileged. Be respectful but do not and I mean do not, start swaying to the music and do not get up to follow in the dancing. I mean it. Stay seated at all times.”
We did not say a word, but followed him across the road running into clucking chickens, a small goat and two children holding hands as we broke through into a large meadow overgrown with spiky grass. We walked further into a clearing and I could see a camp fire burning in the middle of the area. A majestic tree that looked like an oak bordered the clearing and to the front of the space was a lean-to shack open along the front with a dirt porch. The drummers were lined up length wise in front of the entire porch and the sound was slow and steady. Haitian villagers stood or squatted around the periphery of the space and directly across from the porch on the other side of the fire were four plastic chairs seated facing the ceremonial site. The ton ton macoute character motioned for us to sit.
There seemed to be about thirty to thirty-five people milling around the circumference and no children in the dirt courtyard. I counted everyone around the campfire to control my anxiety.
An older man came forward and with exact precision began to draw the “veve” a ceremonial drawing to invoke the Loa Guine, on the dirt floor that backed up to the low rise structure.
The man held in his hand what I thought was a candle and I wondered if our money had purchased them. Later I asked Jean Bernard about it and he said, “No, it was an oxen tendon, twisted and dried then lit as a candle.”
Soon the man began speaking softly in Haitian Creole, and it became evident that he was the priest or houngan who be the gatekeeper to the Spirit world. The houngan incorporated traditional elements of design I had seen in books but he also reflected his own creative skills.
He walked the perimeter of the open sided building, the porch or peristyle adjacent to the dirt altar chamber, the hounfor, and took his time and drew in the dirt with a branch using a bit of powder like substance, maybe cornmeal or wood ash, to illuminate the crevices in the dirt. He prayed the Catholic “Our Father,” in Creole or a patois of sorts and it had all the incantations of a Latin mass.
The fire burned higher and brighter as he stood watching over each symbol he created preparing the ceremonial space. Two inner circles were made with star points added to them making them look like pentacles with another set of symbols along the edge of the area in front of the drummers. A poto mitan or large pole, a tree branch which represents the spiritual center and supports the spirit house was thrust into the ground to the left of the two veve drawings.
The chickens were squabbling like they knew their fate when the houngan suddenly stooped to pick up one skinny chicken pecking at his foot and with a quick twist broke its neck. The chicken’s head plopped to one side and blood splattered over the priest and onto his flabbergasted audience. The priest put his mouth to the chicken’s neck and the blood smeared his face which he wiped before he drank again from his rum bottle.
“We have the best seats in the house and now I know why,” Kiki whispered.
The priest downed another shot of rum and the drummers increased their syncopated rhythm stirring the quiet group of Haitians. Several women stepped around the symbols within the veve and began to swish their skirts to and fro gracefully moving with the beat of the music. A few men joined moving their hips and thrust their bodies forward in a provocative manner. The bottle of rum stayed with the priest, the tempo increased and unseen entities stirred around the campfire waiting to possess a wanting soul.
After much movement, maybe an hour or so later the swaying dancers began to jerk and move erratically like puppets on a string, sweat poured down the faces of several of the men and the woman who were no longer graceful in their handmade dresses and colorful skirts. It was apparent the Loa had begun to “ride” the heads of the dancers. The person is regarded as a horse, in French, cheval, the Loa rides the horse or person. The houngan chanted, and prayed in sounds of French Creole, mostly unintelligible until another chicken lost it life.
Donatella gasped, “how many chickens is he going to kill?”
The shock in the front row was the same as though we had not seen it before and we sat spellbound splattered with blood, watching the flames of the fire, the dancing, the Loa possession; all in the humid night air.
I leaned toward Kiki, “don’t you want to dance,” Jean Bernard heard me and gave me a stern look.
Donatella began to sway with the music and Jean Bernard poked her to stay still. Kiki and I dared not look at one another, for fear of giggling hysterically and being carted off doomed to be possessed, or worse, sacrificed into the fire.
I noticed feathers floating about us, the chickens must have been plucked by invisible hands that cut them ready for the coals, one by one, two more chicken necks cracked in front of us until there were four dead fowl.
One woman dancer fell to the ground sputtering and when she rose up she appeared completely different, grinding her hips in an overtly sexual manner until a handsome man came from the shadows to engage her with matching movements.
As I was watching a large woman with flowing hair came to me and I heard a gruff voice, “come dance with me,’ or at that is what I gleaned from the pantomime.
Her voice was like a man’s and she pulled my hand. “No, no.” I shook my head and held the seat of the chair so he could not get me off the chair. I knew that if a male mounts a female she is called he during the ceremony. He/she kept chiding me to dance and I wanted to stand up and dance but Jean Bernard spoke out in French and he/she let me go.
During my encounter Donatella had joined the circle of women swaying to the music as if in a trance, Kiki and I were frozen in place. Donatella moved with the group with first the woman, then a man who took her small frame in his arms and pulled him to her. Jean Bernard called out to her. “Come here and sit down now!” She ignored him and he stood up and pulled her from the circle. Donatella plunked into her chair and muttered to Jean Bernard, “let me dance, I am having fun.” He held her arm so she could not move from her chair and we all sat for a long time without moving an eyelash.
I felt woozy as the dancers continued their frenzy no longer a dance but a sea of bodies being “ridden” by the Loa. The smoke from the open fire along with the pithy body odor and strong smell of rum made it difficult to discern who was connected to whom as they moved in a circle around the veve.
The houngan called out to individuals and in return they called out their requests of the Spirits, Calling to Loa Guine, one asked,” please cure my baby,” and other called to the Loa, heal my husband he is dying and what will become of me.” Some were clear petitions and others I could not understand in the mix of French Creole they used.
The disembodied spirits according to custom become tired and worn down from the hard task of running the universe and rely on humans to “feed” them with periodic rituals and the killing of animals as sacrifice. Goats and pigs are also sacrificed but in this small village that night we saw only chickens.
The night wore on and the music continued with the villagers dancing and drummers increasing the tempo. Long before midnight the energy turned explicitly sexual and though the voyeur in me wanted to stay, I felt emotionally drained. The others too grew weary and we exchanged nods and in quiet agreement noted that it was time to leave. The guide took the three of us women to the car and locked the door with us inside while he stood by the road.
Jean Bernard stayed a moment to thank our host and convey how much we appreciated being invited to the ceremony. He soon returned and we started home leaving the drumming in our ears and visions of the Loa in our heads.
Susan
We were not allowed to photograph the Voodoo Ceremony. These are my observations from an authentic Voodoo Ceremony I witnessed in Haiti in 2002.
© 2009
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In Memory of my Beloved brother Rob who died November 3, 2009. 
CROSSING THE BAR
Sunset and Evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
From that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place,
flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Namasate,
I returned last week from a trip to Egypt, Turkey and the Greek Isles. It did not occur to me until I was flying home that I indeed had experienced a “Kairos” event, preceded by a Kairos moment when on a whim I asked my son, Barry, what in the world he wanted to see in this lifetime and if he could go anywhere where would it be? He immediately answered, “The Pyramids.
Susan and Barry in Memphis, Egypt
The Sphinx at Giza Plateau
The lesson is to choose the moment of Kairos or as John Keating told his students to listen to those who had gone before them” . . . Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.” Dead Poets Society, Peter Weir, Director: Tom Schulman, Writer: Film, 1989.
As we examine our own lives we can in hindsight see the moments of Kairos. Maybe we fired the arrow accurately but without enough force and could not penetrate the goal. Or the hole in the warp in the cloth was not large enough and we missed the entire moment unable to weave our dreams into reality. While we cannot go back in time and change the event or what we chose, we can see the significance and meaning of the event in present time whereas at the past moment in time, it was only a choice. If we recognize the moment and we choose to act upon it, this is a Kairotic moment or interchangeably a Kairic moment.
I feel inspired that both my son and I acted upon our Kairotic moment and eperienced a wonderful trip guided by divine timing.
Susan
VIEWPOINTS
Namaste,
When I was a little girl in Catholic elementary school the nuns used to tell the class when we failed or didn’t quite make the mark to “try, try try” again. That mantra stayed with me for many years until it made a neurotic mess of me. I was trying hard to succeed by trying again and again. If I didn’t quite make it I marched on trying at the wrong time, I had never heard of Divine Timing. I tried for the wrong reasons, at the wrong time, at the wrong thing or maybe at the right thing but at the wrong time.
Amid all the frustration I learned painfully that I needed to let go and flow with the river rather than swim upstream. We all know what it feels like to move effortlessly forward without obstacles, it is like floating with the current of a river, or riding a wave in the ocean.
This begins to happen as we release our inner resistance based on fear and become in sync with the energy flow of the Universe around us. It is as Eckhart Tolle describes in his book, “The Power of Now.”
Resistance breeds new difficulties at every turn; in my earlier years it became a game of my strength and endurance as I kept pushing against, rather than with the energy flow. Old patterns within us and outside influences of the environment (i.e., no time, no money no partner, no access, no education) reflect like a mirror upon us guaranteeing more resistance leaving us with fearful negative feelings and an overall lack of trust in ourselves and the Universe. Trust is a difficult issue for many of us. We have been disappointed so many times in life, we find it hard to trust our partners, our lovers, and our boss, let alone the Universe.
“Letting go” means moving with the energy flow, flowing with the river and not emotionally investing in the outcome of a desired effect. That is a difficult thing to do as the “Course of Miracles” teaches us we are paralyzed by fear rather than love. The irony of life is that when we “let go” of a person, a desire, a place or or a job and pay attention to our selves, everyone around us responds in a different manner and things fall into place. To quote my dear friend Caroline,” if it is not “easy peasy” let it go!
The hardest thing about the wonderful things you hear in a “reading” are the wanting of them in the “now”. However, in a quote attributed to the writings of King Solomon; “to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” (Ecclesiastes 3:) (King James version)
Divine timing or the right time divinely inspired, or what the ancient Greeks called Kairos, meaning the right or opportune moment in time is a concept we have all experienced. It is a moment when time stands still whether we are quiet in illness or active in the physical. It is the moment in love when we forget about time as we embrace our beloved; it flows when we are in a creative endeavor, painting, or writing, playing a musical instrument or conquering an intellectual challenge, mathematical or scientific, or simply running or swimming.
In Greek mythology Kairos was the youngest child of the God Zeus. The original allegoric statue sculpted by Lysippos of Kairos is beautiful, and we know that beauty is always opportune. The naked Kairos has a tuft of hair streaming from the front of his head representing the fleeting moment taken before it flies away. That is illustrated by the fact that the back of the head is bald signifying that the moment when gone cannot be grasped from behind. The wings on his feet represent how swiftly Kairos time passes. In his right hand he holds a razor letting all know that Kairos has the sharpest edge.
Bas-relief Kairos
Kairos in our lives is the perfect moment in the divine sense. Kairos is qualitative time, it cannot be measured; it is the right thing at the right time, when the person is ready for the event. At this moment we must simply be available in the “now” and open to all that Spirit has to offer. This is the art of “allowing.” Jerry and Ester Hicks speak of this through Abraham so eloquently in their life’s work on the laws of the Universe in their classic book, “The Law of Attraction; The Basic Teachings of Abraham.”
Letting go of attachment allows us to surrender to all that comes our way. If we allow ourselves to be wrapped in a cocoon by the will of the Universe and detach from the outcome of our desires embracing trust, all will be shown to us in increments one step at a time.
Chronos (also written Kronos) unlike Kairos is measurable and deals with quantitative time like the clocks and calendars we so faithfully follow. It is time that is sequential or what we know as linear time. In Chronos, the event will not happen, but at the moment of Kairos, the opportune moment, the right event occurs. Divine timing/Kairos is the perfect blending of a set of circumstances; ideas, geography, events and the karma of all involved parties and aspects of a particular situation.
So think about all that you have been foretold in your readings and know that the events cannot always be marked by Chronos time but will occur at exactly the right moment in Divine Time, that Kairos (opportunity) intersects with Chronos and works its magic.
Susan
Events: If you missed me on 9/3 go to www.blogtalkradio.com/epiphany and download the full program.
SEPTEMBER 4, 2009
Check out www.blogtalkradio.com/epiphany with Deidre Howard as host where I was the guest on 8:00 pm on September 3, 2009 MST in Phoenix AZ 11:00pm EST. I took calls and hopefully answered some of your pressing questions. If you missed the show download it from Deidre’s site and enjoy the podcast.
VIEWPOINTS
Namaste,
A client posed this question to me recently.
” I went to a “reader” some months ago and he told me that I would have a baby before I was forty. I am thirty-four years old, single and I would love to have a baby but have no plans to do so without a reliable partner. I am not involved with a man at this time. The odd thing is that I have been told this several times as far back as 10 years ago when I first had a reading. I wonder if they were tuning into someone else not me and/or do they simply feel that I want a baby and read my thoughts, as I was wondering if the reader could tell I wanted a baby. Will I ever have a little ANGEL to call my own? ”
I have a couple of theories on this type of prediction. First, a lot can happen in six years, and likely if this has been foretold to you by at least three separate “readers” it will occur. If you win the lottery in the interim, you might not feel the need to have a partner and you decide that you can afford all that the child would ever need. You may also be well suited to give emotionally a hundred fold. You may instead take lovers that you do not want to live with permanently and fill the house with friends, male and female as role models for your child.
Secondly, there is more that one way to be a parent of a child or a new baby, by adoption, step parenting or some unusual circumstance that brings a child to your doorstep that in the present moment you cannot imagine. Once the child is yours, you love and raise that child as your own, and never consider it not to be your child. I know this to be true as I am the mother of two adopted children. Not for one moment of their lives have I ever considered them anything but my children.
Different readers tune in and see different things around you, some “readers” are predictive, and some are not. Some tune into your soul and tell you the past and the present quite accurately but cannot see ahead. Others are experts in the now and next few days but cannot see further ahead. But if life events are told, like marriage, death, birth or distant moves, all the “readers” should see the events. Smaller details or even how they occur may be different and not be shown. However, if I see a relationship around you that lasts for the rest of your life, most likely anyone who reads you will see the same relationship.
No, the reader did not read your thoughts, of if so, it should be stated by the reader so you will know that it is not predictive. When I pick up thoughts, I use ESP (extra sensory perception) and specifically say to the the client, “you are thinking this will happen, but that is not what I see.” Yes, I pick up thoughts. ESP is reading your thoughts of the moment, it is not PSYCHIC, nor predictive. An experienced reader knows what information is being told and by whom and what is ESP and what is not. My information is gleaned from many sources, all of which I refer to as Spirit.
However, if the information is from deceased relatives or friends, I so state. I do not assume that deceased parents or relatives are spiritual guides and therefore, the information is usually of a personal nature regarding the shared experiences in life.
The more you understand the art of the metaphysical timeline you will begin to understand that “seeing” is an elusive task. I see all at once along the line as though there is no linear time. Our consciousness moves through the reality grids that comprise our inherent programming. We react to the the signposts along the way like mile markers on a highway.
By using a trusted reader you will become accustomed to their manner of reading and you will understand the markers along the road as clues to your destiny. In my readings I often see what I call “plants,” people planted in your life for a specific reason to alter the course of your life, or to steer you in another direction that you may have been resisting. Many time I get the plant’s initials or their full name. They are not generally romantic partners but special mentors or friends. Sometimes they are a boss or a therapist. They are planted in your pathway as a mile marker showing the way in front of you.
Also, we are sometimes given a “preview” of what is to come. Romance as an example, is many times previewed in the form of a partner that we are drawn to in a flash and then it spins out of control emotionally or fizzles out and we cannot figure out why or how it happened. Sometimes the person is not a person we would normally be attracted to and it feels like compulsive behavior and we cannot stop even though the relationship is unhealthy or abusive and we keep going back for more. This can be Karmic and when we burn the Karmic debt, the affair ends. Or we meet the perfect person but he or she is married and happily so and we long for such a partner and maybe later someone quite similar is there for us.
By seeing the same reader over a period of time you will begin to understand his or her techniques and you will gain a deeper focus of what is being told to you. The only reason you are told anything practical or spiritual insights alike, whether it is the amount of the check for the sale of your home, or the time to sell your business, it is for the progression of your soul and to cultivate the lessons you have chosen to learn as you move towards the Light.
We live in world of reality and in order to move forward we must make decisions. We are draw to a reader to help in that decison making process. Sometimes the information that is given in a reading, through the reader, aligns you, surrounding your soul with extraordinary Light, and all the spiritual guides who enter the portal of “seeing” specifically come to aid you in the choices you must make.
Do not rely on a reader, but use the information you are given as a tool as you would therapy or deep shadow work, and you will see that all will come to you. Be still within and let your INTUITION guide you towards the next step of your journey.
Susan