Remembering Infinity

Spirituality | Metaphysics | Consciousness | Life


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Remembering Infinity: Spirit Signs


Does the "Spirit World" really communicate with us through subtle signs?

Does the “Spirit World” really communicate with us through subtle signs?

I find it interesting that so many others who have an interest in spiritual and metaphysical study seem to have such astounding experiences that encourage them along their way. So many others report having profound visions during meditation, an ability to connect directly with loved ones who have passed and beings from other dimensions, or witness paranormal activity with their own eyes.

Me? Not so much.

I, it seems, am a very tough case! Sure, I believe in many things I can’t see. I believe in many of the accounts others share of otherworldly beings and contacts. I believe that many other forms of intelligent and energetic life exist even beyond the farthest reaches of our Cosmos and our understanding. I believe that our consciousness lives beyond the grave—and that we are eternal souls. But without actual firsthand proof of these things, it seems I only have my faith in the accounts of others to go on.

Then there are days like today. I experience yet another synchronicity that subtly suggests that many worlds exist beyond ours—and that spiritual energies help nudge us along to the exact places we are supposed to go.

Before I share my account of today’s rather mystical events, I suppose I must explain that my paternal grandmother was a very spiritual person. She considered all religions as valid and wonderful pathways to personal discovery. Although raised under the umbrella of Western Christianity, she studied and deeply appreciated other religious paths, particularly those which touched the Eastern philosophies of Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism. She meditated quite often (although she often told us she was “just resting her eyes”) and spent much of her life in deep contemplation of Source, Our Universe, and our place within the Unity.

I was born and raised for most of my younger years in San Francisco and, since my grandmother lived not far from us, she spent a great deal of time exploring the city with me in tow. No matter where we went, whenever she spied a church or house of worship of nearly any kind, she would be drawn to it, much as a moth to a flame.

“Oh,” she’d exclaim, “what a lovely little church! We simply must go inside for a visit.”

Even at five or six years of age, I must have rolled my eyes and grinned—much as I do now when I recall those precious moments.

“Yes, Grandma…” I’d sigh with resignation. But I really didn’t mind. Our visits to these old churches, with their heavy wooden doors; cool, dark, and echoing interiors, and peaceful energy, left me feeling happy and at peace with myself. We’d go in, sometimes light a votive candle or two, and sit for a few moments on the smooth wooden pews. Grandma usually wasn’t much on ritual, but she’d sometimes make the sign of the cross and close her eyes in meditative prayer. I’d do the same, but instead of making a connection with Spirit, I’d pretend to pray and sneak peeks at the beautifully crafted statues and stained glass windows instead. I’ll always remember how beautiful my grandmother looked at those times—her wrinkled hands resting peacefully upon her lap and her softly lined face a perfect reflection of heavenly bliss.

When my grandmother was here in the physical, she loved butterflies. Well, she loved butterflies and ladybugs, but butterflies were her favorite. Especially the Monarch Butterfly, with its bright orange and black wings. She’d always point them out excitedly, every time she saw one. In the many years following her passing, I’ve come to understand that butterflies are “Heaven’s Messengers”. A great many psychic mediums have identified these delicate, colorful creatures as being used to convey messages from the spirit world to us, in our dense 3D-ness. I’ve even noticed myself that, many times, shortly after thinking of my grandmother, either a butterfly will flutter by very closely or a ladybug will land on my arm. To my mind, the frequency that this occurs is far beyond the statistical margins of “chance”.

But I digress.

Since today was one of the last few days before my teenage son starts school, I had offered to take him and his lovely girlfriend on a jaunt to Chinatown for lunch. They agreed, so we headed into the city from the suburbs. We hopped off the train, trekked through the downtown financial district, and found ourselves seemingly in another part of the world. If you haven’t seen it, San Francisco’s Chinatown is a mystical feast for the senses. Established in 1848, it is known as the largest Chinatown outside of Asia and the oldest in North America. Handsome, multi-story brick buildings line the street and strings of brightly colored lanterns, banners, and even drying laundry hang from balconies and light poles. Large glass windows offer expansive views into quaint, old-fashioned storefronts. Bright, colorful wares are often stacked floor to ceiling—and some goods even spill out onto the sidewalks to beckon the throngs of shoppers in.

As we walked down the street, smelling the wonderful aromas of incense and food being cooked in nearby restaurants, I noticed a tall, brick church that looked familiar. The sign in front read, “St. Mary’s Church” and I remembered it as one that my grandmother and I had visited nearly fifty years ago. I grinned at my son, mentioned that she and I had once been there, and suggested that we go inside “for a visit”. He wasn’t really interested—in fact, he and his girlfriend wanted to go play “Pokemon Go” on their phones at a park, just across the street instead. :rolleyes:

I was somewhat disappointed at their not joining me, but as a parent, I get it—after all, who would want to go in some old boring building with your dad when there are lots of wild virtual creatures to catch with your girlfriend, outside, in a bustling city?

So we parted ways momentarily and I disappeared into the nearly empty church. Just as my grandmother and I had done so many years ago, I lit a candle, found a quiet pew, and sat for a few moments. Now, much older, I did meditate for a few moments—but some things haven’t changed. I must admit that I stole a few glances at the stained glass and the familiar figures in alcoves along the walls. I thought about my grandmother, somehow just trusting she was there with me, and wondered if I would ever really feel her presence as I have done on a few very rare occasions.

Sadly, not feeling anything in particular, I shrugged my shoulders and got up to leave. I walked out of the church into the sunshine and walked across the street to the little park where my traveling companions waited. I found them on a bench and, much as I had expected, they were deeply engrossed in their technological adventures.

“C’mon guys…” I encouraged. “Let’s visit a couple of more shops and head to lunch. The place where my grandma and I once ate is right across the street and the food is fantastic!”

As they got up and we turned to leave, something caught my attention. There, out of the corner of my eye and behind some trees, I had noticed a brightly painted mural on the bottom floor of a very old apartment building. Once can scarcely imagine my surprise when I saw, much larger than life, two monarch butterflies painted on a garage door!

Now it didn’t escape me that, because of the position of this mural, there is absolutely no way I could have seen it from the front stairs of the church. The only way I could have seen it is to walk over to this park…and if my son hadn’t wanted to play his game there, I wouldn’t have seen it at all.

I laughed aloud, pointed out the mural, and told them both why seeing the butterflies meant so much to me. Although they may be young and somewhat skeptical, I don’t think the significance of the finding was entirely lost on them. My son’s girlfriend even mentioned that sometimes her family has seen what they too interpret as “signs from above”. She and her family have noticed on several occasions that, just when they are thinking or talking about her grandparents, lights or other electrical appliances will turn on for no logical reason.

So, once again, Spirit has sent me a “sign” that we and our loved ones are never truly gone. And once again, all I have is a wispy “inkling” in the place of rock-solid proof. But that’s OK. I suppose it’s much more fun that way…when Spirit plays a mystical game of “hide and seek” with us incarnated human beings.

One day, when my son has a family of his own, I hope he returns to Chinatown and recounts the story of the day his dad received a sign from Spirit. Perhaps then, if I’ve moved on to other realms, it’ll be my turn to send him a sign of his own. And I’ll just bet he’ll be awake and aware enough to notice it.

Hey, it’s now 5:55 as I’m writing this!

That just reminded me of what comedian Jeff Foxworthy used to always say in his show…“There’s your sign!”

What signs have you received from Spirit or your loved ones?

With Love,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: All Lives Matter


All are loved beyond measure--even the tiniest house finch.

All are loved beyond measure–even the tiniest house finch.

Several days ago, I had the privilege of rescuing a tiny young house finch whose feet and legs had become tightly bound together by several strands from her own nest. She had been flapping her wings in a desperate attempt to escape for quite some time and was hopelessly trapped, a dozen or so feet above the ground, under some solar panels where I work.

As soon as I heard about the bird’s predicament, I knew I had to help. I borrowed a tall ladder and soon found myself perched rather shakily at the top, sweating in near 100-degree heat. It was no easy task—trying to free her gently without causing her further injury.  Her little legs were crusted with dried blood and a part of one of her wings was rubbed raw by her struggles, but she fought bravely against her unforgiving bonds and me as well.

Working to free her, I was impressed by her incredible will to survive.  As I felt her frantic heart pounding wildly against my hand, I suddenly felt an intense Love and Compassion for this small, seemingly insignificant creature.  I was instantly and profoundly humbled, for she had reminded me that the gift of life should be cherished—in all its many forms.  It occurred to me that this is an important lesson many human beings must still not understand, for so many of us still continue to harm one another (and so many other of Nature’s creatures too).

While I carefully pulled the nest apart and gazed into this little bird’s frightened black eyes, I thought about the reasons so many humans seem to have such little respect for life. I came to realize that, in many ways, this callous disregard is just a dark shadow from some very old and clearly outdated ways of thinking and reacting. For thousands of years, mankind has somehow come to see itself as being completely separate from everything else. Like this little bird, from our earliest roots the drive to survive has taught us to be suspicious or even hostile to those who are not familiar to us.

In our troubled human history, it hasn’t been unusual at all to see new neighbors fear, compete with, and even kill one another—simply because they perceived themselves as being different from one another. Unfortunately, even those with close familial ties had (and still have) no guarantees. Those who’ve had disabilities, behaved differently, or somehow failed to meet “cultural standards” were often ridiculed, beaten, shunned from society, or even killed. In some situations, this habit of discrimination may have been seen as a way to limit the spread of illness or disease, but in far more cases these primitive fears and their resulting brutality were completely unnecessary and utterly baseless.

As shards of glass will scatter when a window pane is dropped upon a hard surface, humanity itself has become shattered. And, while the human population has grown, so it seems have our differences.  Tribes became clans, clans became villages, villages became cities, and cities became states and nations.  Instead of seeing our differences as beautiful and unique expressions of Creation and accepting them as such, we continued to cling to our old, familiar biases.  Today, people allow themselves to be eternally divided by their own beliefs and allegiances.  When we aren’t divided by national origin, language, or culture, then we’re divided by race, skin color, religious belief, or political philosophy. If these differences aren’t enough, we divide ourselves by age, physical appearance, sexual orientation, and gender.  We’re even judged and segregated by the kind of cars we drive, the brands of clothing we wear, the sports teams and celebrities we worship, and the type of “smart phones” or technology over which we obsess.  And the lists of things that separate us just goes on and on…

To make matters worse, recent tensions between some members of our community and the police have led to even greater divisiveness.  Resulting slogans of “Black Lives Matter” and “Blue Lives Matter” seem only to have fanned the flames of conflict, as do claims that the phrase, “All Lives Matter” somehow disrespects or minimizes the feelings of those who are suffering from the violence on both sides of the issue.

Seriously, has it come to that? Have things gotten so bad that even those with the utmost respect for life are now vilified and attacked for their Compassion?

I would suggest that if we are to evolve as a species, we must stop looking at one another through the myopic lenses of ignorance, prejudice, and fear.  At some point we must begin seeing each other as fellow travelers, all sharing a life together on this beautiful Earth home of ours.

It’s now well past time for us to wake up!  It’s time for us to end this insanity! It’s time for us to see that generations of insecurity, competition, and conflict have left us all struggling to find common ground and the understanding that, when it all comes down to it, we are all one race.  Differences are wonderful, of course, for they make us each stand out from one another–just as the individual grains of sand appear different upon a tropical beach. But in the end, we are One Tribe.  One world.   One people.  One Spirit.

It took a chance encounter with a small bird for me to fully understand that all are important.  All are equal.  And all are loved beyond measure—even the tiniest house finch.

So please…let’s learn something from the struggle of this little feathered creature.  Let us remember that all life is precious and irreplaceable, all life is sacred, and all lives truly matter.

With Love,

stargazericon

PS:  In the end, I was finally able to free this little bird and take her to a local wildlife facility for treatment.  Several days later, I was disappointed to learn that she didn’t survive her difficult ordeal. While I am saddened by her loss, I’m profoundly grateful to her for reminding me how wonderful, fleeting, and precious life is. And I’ll continue to honor her gift every each and every day by appreciating the Life Spirit in all things—no matter how great or small they may be.

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Remembering Infinity: Born to Fly!


One day, we too may be surprised to find that we were born to fly!

Like a caterpillar, one day, we too may be surprised to find that we were born to fly!

I‘ll never forget one of my grandmother’s favorite stories–one she would often tell us grandkids when we were small.  We’d usually be in the park or her rather overgrown backyard when she’d spy a wooly caterpillar on a bush or a butterfly flitting by.

“Oh,” she’d exclaim excitedly,”look at that!  How beautiful!”  Then she’d laugh to herself and say to us, “That reminds me of one of my favorite little stories.”

As we’d gather around to watch the little creature going about its business, she would begin.

“Once upon a time, there was a little caterpillar.  Every day, he’d wake up, creep out from under the shelter of his little home among the rosebuds, and begin munching away at the leaves.  Soon he’d be joined by several other caterpillars and they’d all enjoy each other’s company as they ate.  Weeks went by and, one by one, the plump and happy caterpillars would each spin a chrysalis to begin their transition into a butterfly.

Before too long, there were only two little caterpillars left.  One day, as the two chatted and ate, a beautiful butterfly floated by, gracefully fluttering its wings in the warm sunshine.  One of the caterpillars stopped eating and stared in awe at the glittering, brilliant flashes of color on its wings.

‘Wow…would you look at that?’ He stared in amazement.

His friend glanced up briefly and returned to his meal, unimpressed.  ‘That’s nice,’ he replied, ‘but you’ll never get me up in one of those things!'”

It was at this point that Grandma would always break out in laughter–and all of us would too, for we all well knew that the silly caterpillar was destined to one day spin his own chrysalis and become a butterfly himself!

As I’ve grown older, I’ve grown to appreciate Grandma’s caterpillar story even more–for it reminds me that, in order for us to truly grow, we must expand our thinking and open our minds and hearts to new possibilities and change.  One of the important things to remember about the nature of Life is that things will change, whether we want them to or not.  If we let our doubts, worries, or fears stop us from trying new things, we may never know how many of Life’s greatest adventures we might miss.  It is only through looking past our fears, opening ourselves to new opportunities, and embracing the idea of change that we may discover these experiences are actually wonderful!

So the next time you see a caterpillar or a butterfly, why not take a moment to appreciate the mystery and magic of Nature?  If you keep your mind open to all kinds of new and exciting ideas and energies, you may one day discover that your own metamorphosis has been just as miraculous as theirs!

With Love,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: The Earth is our Home!


This beautiful field could be cluttered with trash, but it’s not. It’s beautiful because people chose to do the responsible thing—they didn’t litter here!

This beautiful field could be cluttered with trash, but it’s not. It’s beautiful because people chose to do the responsible thing—they didn’t litter here!

On this Earth Day, 2015, it’s critical that we all understand the effect we human beings have on our environment and do what we can, both individually and collectively, to support our Earth—for she is not just our home, she truly is our Mother.  Indeed, we too often lose sight of the fact that we depend upon her and her health for our very survival!  Our physical bodies are made from her natural elements, she provides us with oxygen to breathe, water to drink, and food to sustain us.  To deplete our natural resources and poison our own environment is ultimately to destroy ourselves.

That’s why I’m deeply grateful every time I see someone doing the right thing and acting responsibly instead of littering—that is, cleaning up after themselves, recycling, and depositing trash where it belongs, in a trash can. Unfortunately there are far too many people who don’t. They carelessly and selfishly toss their trash away anywhere, either leaving it for someone else to clean up or, even worse, just allowing it to pollute our environment and harm our wild neighbors.

I see irresponsible people dropping cigarette butts and wrappers everywhere, discarding their fast food containers in parking lots, allowing their plastic bags to blow away and collect on fences, and shoving piles of yard debris out onto our rural byways. Our waterways are clogged with clutter, our parks are defaced with graffiti, and our neighborhoods are plastered with signs promoting businesses, candidates for office, yard sales, and even rooting for teams in local sporting events.

It’s easy to feel angry, depressed, or disgusted when we see how little others care for or respect their neighbors and the world we all share but, in the end, that doesn’t solve anything. Instead, I’m learning to feel compassion for and forgive those who litter—for they don’t understand how their thoughtless acts and attitudes only harm themselves in the long run. They don’t understand that they will eventually learn, perhaps through karma, that their actions have consequences. Finally, they don’t understand how intertwined all life is—and that to harm others by littering or polluting is to ultimately harm oneself.

So now, when I start to feel disturbed by someone’s careless or disrespectful behavior, I try to remind myself that this life experience is only temporary. I try to remember that those responsible will one day be held to answer for their actions—and I’m grateful for the fact that I AM conscious enough that I may choose to behave differently. Then, if I’m able to help resolve the problem by picking up the trash and disposing of it properly myself, I do so. I consider it just one more opportunity to serve others and make a positive difference in the world. Otherwise, I offer the situation a silent blessing, forgive those responsible, and move on with a greater appreciation for the unique beauty of our Earth. Many times, I also envision myself in a more perfect world—one in which everyone truly appreciates one another and cares for our environment. It’s a world where nature is pure, unspoiled, and even more beautiful than it ever has been. And a dream like that really shouldn’t be that difficult to achieve if we are all willing to work together.

Now, if it just so happens that you are a “litterbug”, then please choose not to be! Just because we may be loved and forgiven by our Creator and others doesn’t mean there are no consequences for our choices and actions. In the end, we must all be held accountable for the things we do. So the next time we have a choice, let’s all make the best choice to do the right and responsible thing.  Let’s be sure to put trash where it belongs.  The Earth will thank you.  Your neighbors will thank you.  I will thank you.

There’s no doubt about it—when we take just a moment to make the right choices in life, everyone wins!

Respectfully,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: How Does Your Garden Grow?


In many ways, life is like a garden.

In many ways, life is like a garden.

Several weeks ago, I asked myself the same question that every gardener seems to ask him or herself each time the seasons change from one to another.  And as I looked out the back window at our patio, I was forced to admit that things didn’t look so great.  Our multi-year drought, mischievous dogs, and several windstorms over winter had left our yard in very rough shape.  Our shrubs were in disarray, most of last year’s plantings were dead, and dirt from our two large dogs’ various excavations was scattered all over the patio and its connecting walkway.

Inspired to action by the arrival of Spring and the sudden sprouting of new leaves and blossoms, I developed hasty plans to fence off several areas and plant new gardens in the protected spaces.  The design was such that it provided ample areas for me to plant, yet spaces remained for the dogs to run, chase squirrels, and even dig if they felt inclined to do so (and I’ve no doubt they will).

I spent several weekends sinking redwood posts in concrete, stapling rolls of wire fencing material to them, and hauling home sacks of manure, compost, mulch, and stone.  I arranged rocks, tilled soil, and removed last year’s spent plantings and debris—all in preparation for this year’s fresh new growth.  Finally, after much effort, I was ready to plant!  I took several trips to nearby nurseries, where I picked out a wonderful variety of flowering plants, bulbs, and seeds.  I spent the better part of three afternoons working barefoot and bare-handed in the warm sunshine, planting and arranging, arranging and planting.  As each phase of my plan unfolded, I’d sit back to study the bare patches of earth for a moment, dig an appropriately-sized hole in just the right spot, and gently tuck each infant plant or seedling in its new home.  Once everything had been carefully set in place, I watered the entire garden with a gentle shower from the hose.

With my work done for the day and for the most difficult part of the project complete, I sat down with a cold drink to enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells around me.  Birds flitted busily about, wind chimes tinkled gently in the tree above, and I breathed in the heady aromas of damp earth and flowers blooming.  The new plantings seemed small and tentative in their new spaces, but I could quite easily see their potential for a brilliant future—and I imagined and intended for it to be exactly that.

In many ways, I mused, our lives are just like gardens.  We imagine them.  We work hard to prepare a place for them, carefully plant seeds of thought and deed, and shower them with our Love and attention.  In the end, the condition of our garden is a living reflection of all the care and energy we devote to it.  To be sure, there’s always some pruning to do, a weed to be pulled here and there, or a dog to be shooed away, but with proper care, our reward can be a glowing, vibrant oasis of beauty, joy, and peace.

Silly me.  As I was lost in thought about gardens and life, I was interrupted by a slight commotion behind me.  I turned to see that one of my dogs had squeezed through a small gap in the fence and was sniffing about, exploring one of my new garden beds.  Leave it to her to figure out a way around my defenses!  Fortunately, I intercepted her and fixed the trouble spot before any significant damage was done.  I suppose it just goes to show that even the best laid plans aren’t always foolproof—or, in my case, dog-proof.

Since Spring is here, now is the perfect time for each of us to create new growth and constructive change in our lives and, indeed, in our world.  All it takes is a bit of inspiration, some dedicated effort, and some tender, loving, care.

Now that Spring is here, it’s a great time to ask ourselves that age-old gardener’s question—”How does your garden grow?”

Respectfully,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: “Stealth” Rainbows


I like to think of those brilliant and surprising patches of color in the sky as “stealth” rainbows.

I like to think of those brilliant and surprising patches of color in the sky as “stealth” rainbows.

I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a sky watcher at heart (and a “Stargazer” as my pen name suggests). As such, throughout my day I frequently catch my thoughts—and attention drifting skyward. Before I know it, I find myself admiring the lazy circles of a hawk in flight, billowing cloud castles, or the golden rays of sunshine streaking through the firmament.

My wife apparently knows this quite well, for several weeks ago I was supposed to meet her for an appointment after work.  The sky was absolutely gorgeous as I left—and I was so captivated by the shifting light and clouds that I completely forgot I was supposed to be somewhere.  I drove up to a nearby park to shoot some photos and wasn’t reminded of my prior obligation until my phone “blew up” with text messages wondering where I had gone.  When I finally arrived, quite late for the meeting and profuse with apologies, my wife lightheartedly accused me of “chasing rainbows and moonbeams”.  I’m very grateful that she and our tax preparer have such a forgiving nature—and a cheerful sense of humor!

It’s strange, but I have been noticing a lot of rainbows lately—and not the usual kinds, either. I certainly expect to see these brilliant arcs of color on rainy days or in some settings, such as Hawai’i, where water and light frolic among the clouds and waterfalls. But in the relatively dry climate where I live, rainbows are a typically rare occurrence. In the past few months however, I’ve been seeing what I like to think of as “stealth” rainbows—and I don’t recall seeing these much, if at all, before. I’ll be going about, ostensibly minding my own business, and I’ll suddenly glance up to see a brilliant patch of shimmering color all by itself in the sky!  Sometimes they’re subtle, but other times the colors just seem to jump out at me from nowhere—like the ones in the accompanying photo. I was actually on my way to work one morning when I saw this amazing streak of color. I was so impressed I just had to pull over, grab my camera, and snap its picture.

Since then it seems, I’ve seen dozens of these sneaky little critters. I’ve seen them in the morning, in the afternoon, at sunset—and sometimes even at night, when they seem to shimmer and dance around a full moon.  No matter where or when I see them, they’re all breathtakingly beautiful. Personally, I love the whimsical idea that rainbows are sylphs, or nymph-like, living beings that inhabit the Earth’s atmosphere.

Each time I see one, I’m reminded of the story of Noah’s Ark, in which God is said to have created the rainbow as a sign of His covenant with all living creatures.  At that time, so the story goes, He promised that He would never again destroy the Earth by flood. Even though I no longer believe in the angry, vengeful God of the Old Testament, I do recognize the rainbow as a rare and wonderful gift of Nature and All That Is. Rainbows are presents of light and color, where each wonderful hue is individually represented and expressed—yet all blend together to form one brilliant masterpiece. I see rainbows as signs, symbols, and reminders of the loving bridge that connects us all with one another and with Source. It reminds me that we are eternally One in essence and in spirit.

About the same time I began seeing these wonderful signs, I was delighted to learn that many others were witnessing them too. Rather synchronistically, several photos of some truly spectacular, rainbow-hued ice halos cropped up on the Internet. One such scene in Red River, New Mexico, was described as having a total of eight different types of atmospheric phenomena present.  Any one of these was, in and of itself, acknowledged by experts as being quite rare. How is it then, that eight could be present, all in the same place and at the same time? The odds of that happening must have been astronomical! I just can’t allow myself to believe that these magnificent, even magical occurrences can be simply explained away as random, pragmatic events. To me, they are all harbingers of a bright and brilliant new time, one in which such glorious beauty will become customary—and it is therefore all the more appreciated.

So the next time you see a rainbow, whether it may be “stealth” or otherwise, why not take a moment to pause and admire its beauty? You might find it more than a bit comforting to consider it, as I do, a gentle reminder that Our Creator loves us all—deeply and unconditionally. Period.

With profound Love and Respect,

stargazericon

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Remembering Infinity: The Magic of Music


What would our world be like without the magic of music?

What would our world be like without the magic of music?

What is it about music that stirs the soul? With its varied beats, rhythms, and tempos, music allows human beings to share an emotion, a feeling, or even an energy with so many others. It’s expressive. It’s creative. It’s timeless—and it’s universal. Even those who are unable to hear it may still appreciate its movements, its mood, and its vibration.

Well -executed music isn’t just a smattering of symbols and lines on paper or a wanton riot of sounds blasting from a variety of instruments either—it’s a beautifully expressive reflection of the creative soul who composed it. It’s the flowing precision of notes, chords, and tones from a skilled symphony. It’s the harmonious blend of human voices lifted in song. It’s even the driving energy of a garage rock band. Music inspires us to be even greater than we are and it invites us enjoy the richness of every living moment!

When we hear old, familiar songs, music remembers. When we’re driven to tears by life, music soothes. When we close our eyes and feel the chills running through our bodies, music thrills. Music brings movies to life. It welcomes. It blesses. It heals. And it drives us to action. Music is the dancer, the companion, and the lover. Music tells the stories of our history, cultures, beliefs, and even our dreams.

Even Nature has her music. There is the roar of the ocean in a sea shell or the song of birds on the wing. Waterfalls, rain, and the rush of waves against the shore are the perfect accompaniments to a sunset. The flickering earthward plunge of lightning, as the Grand Conductor’s baton, summons forth a resounding crash of thunder. The hiss of damp wood and the whisper of sparks drifting skyward from a campfire serve as a fanfare to the stars. The rhythmic hoot of an owl, the sigh of the wind in the trees, and even the mournful voice of a wolf are nocturnes on a moonlit night. All these—and so many more sounds compose the songs of Life that we so love to experience.

So consider, if you will for a moment, all the music in your life and imagine what life might be without it. Then quietly give thanks for all the composers, performers, and sounds that add so much to our Life’s experience. Music is their gift—and there are few greater.

So to all who labor to bring forth the musical expressions of their souls, I say, bravo, Maestro!  I AM humbled by your artful works…and I thank you!

Respectfully,

stargazericon

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