I saw my dreams and they were nightmares telling me to wake up to my fears. Confront change. Listen to them. Acknowledge them. Say "It's okay." They are small children, wanting to be reassured. Wanting to know if it's okay. Wanting to be reassured that they have their say. Don't ignore them. My little fears, grabbing on my pant leg. Looking up at me. Their eyes huge pleading. Is it okay? It's okay. I accept you. You are my little darlings. I will always love you. But I was incorrect. They are not fear. That's not their essence. They are simply change, and they want me to surrender to their love.

A lot of times I forget myself. I walk around on a cloud. My mind so heavily rehearsing for the future or replaying the past (most of the time with rewrites or editing). It's amazing I don't bump into people or get in car accidents more often. I am just that much into my head. What's out there sometimes cease to exist.

I need constant awareness to be present. I am a natural worry-wart. I came from a family of worry-warts. Each person in my family has their own individual trigger subject matter that would cause mass anxiety. But I'm almost certain I have inherited all of theirs. Is this spiritual karma? What is it about hidden beliefs in one's family that is so pervasive and so derisive?

So, I attend this spiritual center more regularly. I have even attended courses to understand the philosophy. It only confirmed what I already know, and it gave me more clarification for the missing pieces. My goodness, I hate to be vague. It's just I don't want to spend my time sounding like an evangelist or have a debate about philosophy or religion. Spirituality is all-embracing. The path is for the invidual to take, but all the paths are interconnected.

Where was I?  Oh, my lofty dreams. I am confused in what path to take--for my life calling. I don't like call it a career--but for a lack of a better word I'll use it here. I like the word "vocation" in its word origin but it reminds me of all those wood/auto shops in high school and vocational courses--for those who were not college/university people. Then again, people who attend vocational schools are making a lot more than many recent university graduates.

I'm rambling again. Okay. I want to be a filmmaker. Okay, I said it. This poet who is probably known by a couple hundred people wants to produce movies. Is that nuts?!

And yet...I'm the same person who forgets to buy a toothbrush at the pharmacy store whenever she goes out. The same person who goes into the kitchen to get some juice gets distracted by something on television and forgets to get a glass of juice.

So, I have lofty dreams. I'm a visionary. I can see products, events, projects, businesses, concepts, organizations, innovations.  The only thing is manifesting them.  The practical know-how. Then again, it's not so bad being a poet. Poets are generalists anyway. Isn't a producers  generalists. They don't need to know how to do everything. They kinda oversee the process. They gather the elements and watch things unfold.

Each moment is an opportunity for me. I notice I get a green light when I'm not worrying or wanting to control every aspect of a situation/experience. Letting go of control and yet knowing I can make choices--there's a balance there. Surrender. Allow. Each moment is an opportunity to learn to see, to hear, to feel in a different way. People are helpful. They can be teachers/guides. Every day is a miracle. Such little steps are leading to leaps of faith.

Looking down from the airplane window I saw the San Francisco cityscape and the Oakland-San Francisco Bay Bridge turn to snowcapped mountains of Oregon. I was in awe with the sudden change of aerial topgography. One moment, urban/suburbuan cities connected by freeways and bridges. The next moment, brilliant green mountains the size of anthills. But wait! Naw, can't be?! I looked upon one snowcapped mountain, and I was staring at the face of God. Jesus. No, I'm not exclaiming Jesus as in Jeezuz! That's who I saw. The face of Jesus was in this snowcap. I blinked my eyes and reopened them widely. Sure enough.
 
No, I don't have a photo of it. Then again, I have no desire to have to capture it as proof or evidence. I only know what I saw.

Prior to seeing Jesus on the mountaintop, I dreaded this trip. The idea of flying and/or traveling alone made me nauseus. I was that scared. I resisted going. There was a part of me that wanted to go, but my nasty little ego who hates change and likes to point everything and anything that could go wrong fought and fought. Finally, I mustered up my mustard-seed-sized faith and packed.

It turns out I was only afraid of the hustle and bustle of airports. Once I was aboard, I was okay.

I'm truly acclimated to the Bay Area considering I lived there for nearly two decades. I live where the fresh water meets the Bay, where marshlands are predominantly part of our watershed. Egrets, waterfowl, seagulls. I enjoyed witnessing nature walking along the waterfront or on the Bay trails.

Oregon was different story. I enjoyed witnesing nature sitting at the kitchen table drinking cocoa. The window overlooked the sloping backyard. These sparrow-like birds, with dark-hooded caps and with a white speck around each eye, pecked on the dewey ground. I loved those little birds because they reminded me I was in a place away from home. (We didn't have birds that fit that description.)  But they gave me the same comfort as the little brown birds in my backyard of my hometown Vallejo. It reminds me how I would watch them as a child, trying to get close to them as possible before they got alarmed and flew away. But, here from this window vantage point, I saw them. It reminded me of a scripture. A verse from the gospel about how these little birds are provided for and how flowers are clothed in array of colors. A parable, a lesson about abundance and faith, that my needs will be provided for if I only accept that it is already given. Little birds flew and ate not worried; may they be in the milder climates in California or in the frostier climate of a small town on the outskirts of Portland. I loved that story. It's relevant. There is no such thing as lack. Lack is an illusion. Abundance is Truth if one accepts it as so.