Self-Blessing

I pulled out my copy of Ten Poems to Open Your Heart and was impressed with Roger Housden all over again. I especially resonated with this part of a poem [Saint Francis and The Sow] by Galway Kinnell:
"for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing; though sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness, to put a hand on the brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch, it is lovely, until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing..."

Paraphrasing Roger Housden's comments: We, you and I, are full of life, unfolding into flower.
A blessing is an act of reverence, usually freely given from one to another, and traditionally within some religious context, but in this poem Kinnell says that the deepest blessing comes from ourselves. It arises, spontaneously, from the silence in us. Or not.

Blessings give life meaning, make life richer. The examples Housden gives are: like the feeling of emerging from cloud cover into an endless expanse of blue. Like a flood of warmth from the top of your head down to your toes. Or like the sensation of belonging, of realizing that you have your own unique place in the family of things.

A blessing is an influx of grace.

To listen quietly and deeply to the stirring of your own life is an act of self-blessing. To be kind to yourself. To have faith that your life has its own intelligent design and is doing exactly what it needs to, even if it doesn't feel that way; that is a blessing. For " sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing a thing its loveliness".

A New Leader for the U.S.

Standing just beyond the crush of Barack Obama supporters in Chicago's Grant Park, Mike Victor, a 57-year-old African- American commodities trader who has lived his entire life on Chicago's South Side, watched as the impossible dream came true.
"This is history in the making. Never in my lifetime have we seen something like this," he said. "This is a victory not only for African-Americans but for all the people. I'm not putting Barack Obama in the category of a saviour, but in extraordinary times, extraordinary leaders rise.
"Rosa [Parks] sat so Martin [Luther King] could walk. Martin walked so Obama could run. Obama ran so our children could fly," Mr. Victor said, attributing the poetic phrase to a wise man.

Devoted to my right hip

My pets, Kooch the cat, and Petey a Chihuahua mix, have issues with each other. To illustrate, a few days ago, in the early morning, Kooch came into the bathroom with me to get a running-water drink from the sink, as is his habit, and Petey came in to sit at my feet on the toilet mat. Kooch finished his drink, I finished my toilet session and Kooch sat like an Egyptian in the open doorway. I washed my hands and left the bathroom. I went into the living room to drink my coffee and read my book. After a few minutes, I realized that Petey hadn't followed me to come snuggle up to my right hip like he usually does. I called, "Petey, where are you love?" but he didn't come. I got up to investigate and found that Kooch was still on guard in the bathroom doorway and Petey didn't have the courage to come out past him. Stalemate.
"Is that cat holding you against your will?" I asked Petey. He was silent and doing his Chihuahua shivers. Chuckling a little, I carried Petey out. I'm sure neither one appreciated my humor over the standoff.
Both are neutered males, close in size (8-10 lbs) and both are a caramel color with white patches. Petey will growl and chase Kooch if he's on the move but if Kooch stops and turns to face him, well, Petey turns all non-chalant. I think he knows that Kooch could take him.
He pulled that growl-chase with one of the feral cat mamas one day and all I could see was a blur of fur. The noise was the thing. Petey was screaming like a banshee. He wasn't even scratched but he was trembling when I picked him up. A valuable lesson for Petey.
I tell him not to tangle with Kooch because Kooch has a nasty temper if threatened. As I know only too well from trying to get him to stop batting the painting in my room. This was his gambit to get me up at night for his midnight snack. The Mermaid painting is unframed and light and I definately don't want it harmed. From a sound sleep this action has me sitting straight up in bed (his intention, I'm sure). One night I reached over to tell him, "Stop that!" and he must have thought I was going to hit him even though I've never done that, and he layed his ears back, hissed, and clawed my hand and arm. "Kooch,"I yelled surprised, then started crying because he'd attacked me.
Kooch and I still have affectionate moments (of his choosing). I always know when he's in the room because Petey gives his low growl. Since I have Petey (the newcomer to the household) on the bed with me at night, Kooch has stopped batting the painting. And Petey is, of course, as always, devoted to my right hip.
I love them both.