Inspiration

Several years ago, I worked in a computer lab at the university I attended as a graduate student. Since I was the one who usually had to open the lab, I often got to campus very early, and was one of the first people in the parking lot.

Getting up early and commuting on the Merit Parkway was not fun. Sometimes there would be traffic jams. Other times, there was so much ice, I could barely get to work safely.

As much as I hated the commute, sometimes there were nice parts about arriving early.

I am drawn to where the past lingers on, like Sturbridge Village Museum in Massachusetts, where people dress up in yesteryear clothes and character. It is truly amazing how these people fit their parts so well, as if being transported back 300 years.

Seeing the farmer in a long coat shepherding a flock of sheep thru the village green.

Seeing the potter casually spinning a clay pot.

Seeing the tinker making a lantern of tin or a candleholder of pewter.

Seeing how they cook in a hearth with an open fragrant log fire.

There’s something about a very old photograph that really draws me in. Perhaps it’s the black and white monochrome world that looks oddly “at a distance” – as if that’s the best that could be done at that time – almost like a dream.

I like to see how people are dressed and I try to sense how it felt to be in that place at that time. Did the air feel different?

Musical beginning of Claire de Lune performed by and courtesy of Amber Short - https://www.ambershort.us/media/music/piano/Claire_de_Lune.wav


I’ve found that “Claire de Lune” has a very healing sound. I use muscle testing, also known as kinesiology, to test on a scale of 1 to 10 the power of healing for a particular piece of music.

The instrument doesn’t matter. It is the underlying music that presents this healing quality.

Out of the blue came the hoot of an owl.

Sometimes this happens in my back yard. Sometimes in my neighborhood. Sometimes I think it follows me.

It was a very pleasant surprise - three long, slow, low hoots. A pause, then it repeated. A pause again, then it repeated again.

It calls up in me the feeling of the deep woods. Where there are wise animals, knowing old, huge oaks, and the feel of soft, moist dirt underfoot.

The woods are alive with mystery and quiet surprise. At any moment there could appear a deer, a chipmunk, or a giant, black crow.

You’re staying home.
You’re washing hands.
You’re drinking water.

Now what?
Are you still anxious?

Do you realize the entire world is now focusing single-pointedly on well-being?
Everyone in their own way.
Vast numbers, hidden, like stars in the sky in the daylight.

The doctors and nurses and researchers in their way.
The caregivers in their way.
The people of all religions in their way.
The light-workers in their way.

The world is stopped, on pause, from its frenetic pace.
Perhaps people, the earth, and our busy-ness need a rest.

The roads are empty.
Perhaps people see better “nearsighted” now and then.

People look for groceries and food.
Perhaps people appreciate better the abundance we took for granted.

People’s daily routines are all “off-kilter” and disrupted.
Perhaps the habits were also a box that now is not.

I feel there is lightning in words, a power way beyond just casually talking.

I feel words with intent can crumble stone.

I’m not saying it’s easy.

You have to be in the mood, the frame of mind, to do this, to speak the words as part of an inner chant, so they pull upon another realm, and weave it here.

I feel words are sacred, like rays of light from the soul, when spoken with knowing their deeper power.

One day I went outside and saw mushrooms everywhere. Not only was the yard absolutely full of mushrooms, but they were all so different from each other. It’s like elves and fairies were celebrating there in the night before.

Some were large and off-white. Some were small and orange. Some were dark, dark brown, thin and tall. Some were white with an orange ring at their edge. Some were tiny and delicate, the size of a dime. Colony upon colony of each kind.

There was a huge 8 inch mushroom. There were colonies of bright yellow sprouts, just stems forming, of young mushrooms.

This is the story of how I learned about Dr. Albert Schweitzer, who had a jungle hospital in Equatorial Africa. The reverence for life for all animals, he created this idea when he was in Africa in 1913, when he first went to the hospital in the jungle.

The reverence for life came to me when my mother passed away. I was stationed in Germany. I came home to New York, and my father said, “I want you to meet this woman”. She was a Jewish refugee from Vienna. She won the 1958 Oscar for a documentary on Albert Schweitzer, who I’d heard of.