Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Bathing In Persimmon Trees

Welcome to the 14th launch of BlogBlast For Peace aka Dona nobis pacem in the Blogosphere. 
Our theme this year is Change Your Climate. Many are choosing to write about global climate change. Others are choosing to write about the need to change their own personal climates in order to create peaceful spaces for themselves ( ie: eliminating stress, self-care). I have chosen the latter.  
Please sign the Mr. Linky at the end of this post so that others may visit you and see the beautiful peace globes throughout the Blogosphere. Remember to tag me on Facebook  or wherever you are on social media. Thank you for being a part of this community of peace bloggers. Your words are powerful and important to all of us. May we lift and encourage in our quest for a peaceful more sustainable planet earth.  Grant us peace!  

Bathing In Persimmon Trees

As she got older and more introspective, my mother would spontaneously start talking about random things from her faraway childhood. On this day, she began to weave invisible spinning yarn in the air in front of her. “There are these threads….you see….threads….” as her hands moved in and around them,  making sense of mysteries in her mind,  weaving and talking as she spun, connecting branch to branch to branch. Except she wasn’t really sitting there with me. She was somewhere back in time playing dodgeball with the curse.
 “I can see them going back generations.”“What kind of threads?” I asked. “Poverty. Brokenness. Abuse. Depression. Alcoholism. Divorce. Conflict. Addiction. Bad threads….don’t you see them, Mimi?”Yes, mama, I’ve always seen them.
Like shadows on trees in a cemetery, cast long from eons of time and generation, I had always seen them. 

If you want to go mad, cover them up.
If you want to break the curse,
stand in the Light.

Generational threads can tie together what desperately needs to be broken. They are inherently binding and strong.
Made of flax. Faith. Fiber. Custom. Tradition. Tribe. Toxicity. Untruth.
Even and especially love.

Whether they remain tied and woven into the next generation depends not on the strength of the cotton, but on the spinning of the pattern. Twisted legacies take whole life spans to unspin. It requires laser-sharp discernment and a willingness to plant a new field. To begin a better story. Harvesting new tribes is not for the faint-of-heart. My mother was anything but faint.


And that’s when I began to remember…
warm water washing down my back.
I felt the heaviness of long tangled hair.
Soap.
And her hands in my hair.

Scrubbing and soothing at the same time.  Bare feet on a dark linoleum speckled floor, bent over the kitchen sink in the middle of a fifties wood frame in the heat of summer and the only running water in the house.  Daddy hadn’t finished the bathroom yet.My mother stood untangling the mane that was always tangled and drying me off with a ragged towel. 
And then I started to cry 
Uncontrollably. Sobs from an eight-year-old that should never be heard by a mother. She knew. I could see it in her eyes. She knew. From the covering of shame I felt underneath the thinness of fabric that could not cover could not cover could not cover the confusion and tremble of a skinny little girl who had just been reminded of more than innocent suds running down the back of a dark-haired freckle-faced me with grownup questions swirling in her mangled head.She looked straight into the dripping freckles and raised her eyes to meet mine.


It was my mother’s greatest gift to me. 
Unwavering trust. Unquestioning acceptance. She believed what I was about to tell her before I said it. I can still taste the shampoo on my lips and see the horror in her eyes, the quiver in my voice. I remember the way my eyes wanted to only stare at the linoleum while she gathered herself.  Standing there dripping in a torn towel while she called someone to tell them what she’d seen in her daughter’s eyes.I never had to see him again.She saw to it.
She sacrificed family and relationships to protect me. Had she chosen to look the other way, I am sure without a shadow of an oak tree doubt,  I would have crumpled into a broken twig on the sudsy floor and never recovered.Instead, it was the moment that defined me. 


In the deepest part of me that day, she taught me to trust the sacred places that no one should touch.  I owned every nook and crevice again before she even finished with the tender drying because my mother believed me she gave me permission to trust myselfShe had no idea that she’d just given me my voice.

Of all the trials that came later – our arguments, her quirky temper, my stubbornness – our differences growing wider in the middle of our lives, then circling back to unconditional love, as happens with mothers and daughters  – I’m not sure she ever fully recovered from the sadness of that moment. 
ThreadsYou see them, don’t you Mimi?


I wanted so much to know her and understand her better and all that mysterious weaving in the spirit. Those strands had names. They had stories. But there wasn’t time and she was gone.  What made her so unbreakable? What stopped her from untying the last piece of tangled life and freeing herself? What kind of woman knows by instinct and love how to run straight into battle for her daughter?  That’s the indestructible mother I longed to fully know.

When I felt she had no faith in my endeavors or no understanding of my independence, in hindsight, now, I wonder if the moment under the towel defined the way she would forever try to keep me from straying too far into unfamiliar territory. As I spread my wings to fly away, perhaps her holding on was the only way of protecting me.  Perspective.
I went through some things this year that broke my heart. Multitudes of unkindness and wholly undignified days. But the more vile they became, the more grace I received. 
 My body is recalibrating. Balancing. Resetting. Changing my climate, my environment, is not just necessary for peace of mind, it’s mandatory for my survival. I am ready to put this decade behind me but not without the wisdom it contains.

Standing under the canopy of trees gives me courage and strengthens my vulnerability – that delicate balance between authenticity and prudence.   It resembles the act of protection and trust. Intimacy and connection.  You might not have a lifetime or even a decent swath of moments like these with the people you love. 
But it only takes one.  
Divine grace echoes on the walls of my heart. 
My mother’s grace reverberates decades later.
And she is the reason that I can stand uncovered in a field of persimmon trees
without fear 
without shame
without scars

I finally learned to accept all our twisted roads and fallen places.  How she tried to exhume the genesis of those invisible threads in her hands, never quite finding where the first broken piece began and the last continued.   You see them, don’t you Mimi?
She died before she could unravel all the threadsBut she deposited in me just enough spitfire to keep my end of the peace treaty intact:To leave the untelling on the kitchen floor To live without hiding behind trees 
To forgive those who want to see me brokenTo be open and brave when your words need wordingand to be loud in the most vulnerable of places
and that’s why I need treesHad you told me a year ago that people can feel energy from trees, I would have silently patted you on the head and sent you on your way. And yet, since her death six months ago, I find myself running to the forest on my mountain, sitting for hours in the sanctuary of their branches. Breathing in oxygen. Absorbing life into the cells of my stress-laden body. Finding the Mother trees. They shelter the young saplings and strategically branch out in directions that give them the most nourishment from the sun.Did you know there are mother trees?
We are made stronger when we understand where we came fromwhen we uncover what is hurting usWe discover which branches are strong and which need pruning.I am learning to be thankful for the miles of memories that created meall of them
Safety sometimes lies in being unseenbut never in being unheard.

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BlogBlast For Peace 2018 ~ Dona Nobis Pacem

Welcome to the 2018 launch of Blog4Peace. We are an international group of bloggers and social media gurus who promote the cause of peace on our blogs, websites and pages. Click one of the links above to get your own peace globe and join us. It’s an amazing day on the Internet! Our theme this year is the power of words. Here’s my peace post. I’ll be by soon to read yours!
Words in Blue Kyanite
If there are stories to be told in heaven, let them be these. 

Let them be told as these have been told. Let verse and lyric rhyme as old saints do on the eve of great awakenings. Lean your ear toward what matters most and listen as spirits mutter sacred texts and beautiful songs. Stretched across the throne of the world from the top of heaven’s doorstep, words can still reach earth.  Stretched across the world’s doorstep in many homes and hovels today, words can still reach heaven. And you will say them again. And again. And again. That’s what storytellers do. That’s what peace bloggers do.
For you see, words are not only powerful for the content and wisdom they bring to bear; they are powerful for the reason they came to bear. There is no great catharsis, no sudden shift in the universe, no real progressive change in the world without storytellers. And you thought your chapter was over? Let me tell you something…it doesn’t end until you tell it to end. He had this twinkle you see….A spark of something that resided deep inside the brilliance of his mind. Something that glowed with kindness, documenting years on earth like centimeter markings on a ruler.  My Papa. He is the one who inspired me to write in the first place. He is the one who left me with an earth marble full of continents and rivers and mountains. He left me the whole world. 


And his hammer.Words are not the only tools we have.  He needed it to make things. I need it to smash my fingers. He understood hammers. I do not. 
 .
I’ve been asking him lately, in my dreams and in my mind, what story he wants to tell today on November 4th, because he always give me a nudge. And all I am hearing from him is that he wants me  – and you – to tell our stories. Now. Not his. Ours.  
 It is the most basic of human needs – the power and joy of connection. Of being heard. Of being heard!!!  Not because someone is shouting, anyone can start a movement if they’re loud enough, but because purposeful intent behind mightily built well-chosen words is strong enough to make a whisper ripple across seven continents and twenty-five rivers and still be understood on the highest mountain peak a thousand miles away.That’s what Papa’s marble did for me. That’s what your words do for the world each and every year.
And while there was serendipity and more than a few God winks to get the ball rolling (so to speak), the discovery of the marble only served to help me understand that in this life there are no coincidences. Every person you meet brings their energy, their intent, right smack-dab into your personal space…sometimes so close you want to (and should) run away and hide from it when things don’t feel right. That is discernment. Others bring the healing you need when you didn’t even know you needed to call a healer.


That is grace.
Which brings me to my friend.  It happened at the beginning of a new school year.  I bent over in agony when I heard the news, so unexpected it was, so cutting. It was a physical pain in the caverns of my body. I could hear the bones break in my brain.  I didn’t expect to feel her loss so viscerally. Peacefully housed in pine she lay weeping and exhausted no more. She was free. I was not.


I was afraid.And angryLet’s be real. My life was full of complaining. And whining. And posturing. And planning. And pondering. And procrastinating. And even whining to myself that complaining would do me in.  I was even tired of my own complaining! I’ve been tired and exhausted this year. Not.peaceful.at.all.
And there she was. Asleep forever in a cold pine box full of peace. Not even fifty years old. My heart broke for the losses and pain she endured on planet earth. 
I was at the crossroads between terror and panic. Would I be next? Would my body betray me as well? Can I live up to the example of courage she set?  Could I maintain this pace and keep my health intact? After all, she was the strongest person I knew. Heart-stopping, constricting air-depleting suffocation. Did I mention the fear?  Even so, I felt guilty for focusing on myself when it wasn’t about me at all. 
What was her story? She spoke loudly from the pine box. The silence was maddening. Knock it off, Mimi, and listen up! I can’t remember one single meeting, one single instance, one day or second or smile that was wasted on her. She made me better and sometimes made me mad doing it. Oh, but she didn’t know it. And she had no patience for my histrionic nature. She didn’t waste time worrying about how other people perceived her, whether or not she hurt your feelings, or how you arrived at any conclusion without her. She was too busy living strongly while she was dying slowly.
You knew you were in the presence of someone who knew what it meant to inhale and exhale with intent every single day. You knew, somehow you knew, that time spent with her were masterclasses in how to live fully.Image result for blue kyanite

Could there be a better time to shake up the world than on the day you decide to die? She shook up my world! Yes, I said decideI know that I know that I know (as my grandmother would say) that some people decide it is their day to die. Ascended gurus manage to mark the hour quite regularly. When it’s time for the body to give up its usefulness, it’s time to give up the ghost and take up a new identity somewhere else. 
And so my friend became my catalyst for change in a year that began in fear. That happens when you see someone you just talked to reposing in a pine box too soon. 
**Excuse me, Miss Pencil Skirt, said the doctor…but I don’t think you’re breathing quite right** 
 Fear is a simply a jumping off place. “What you do in this moment will determine everything,” whispered the Voice of reason.
I decided to change my words. Starting with my thinking
I wrote pages of self-talk: I will not tolerate pity. I will not tolerate blame. I will not tolerate complaining. I will not abide negativity. I will not entertain anger. I will not surrender to bitterness. I can breathe I can breathe I can breathe I can breathe…. 

“Gather your strength,” whispered Spirit. “Gather strength for yourself.”  I wanted to live well. I needed to love myself well enough to gather my strength and heal. Those who live well, by default love well. 

Image result for pyrophyllite images
Pyrophyllite

 I mean the kind of love that makes you sweat, requires your blood, makes you live in it, slog through it, talk about it, wade in it, fall down under the weight of it until you can’t even breathe because that devastating love is so full of itself. Have you ever come to a pivotal moment in your life when days were so dreary you’d rather feel something than nothing at all?  Your lungs are tight from holding back the light that so desperately wants to get in…but you can’t exhale well enough to inhale?  Stress will do that to a person. At least that’s what the doctor told me. What? What?? I can’t breeeaaatheee?? 
“No, Miss Pencil Skirt, something seems to be affecting your lung capacity.”  

This is not what you want to hear the day before you go to a funeral.
**raises hand**I think I need to call a healer.


I didn’t understand the world until I was sixty-years-old.It was then that understanding became too soft a word for the depth of knowing residing in the bones of six decades on earth.It was more like burning lava cooled by the flames of tea leaves. 

I love leaves

When my Papa was in his early sixties, he fell on the kitchen floor and took his last breath. Just like that. Suddenly. Without premeditation or fanfare. His lungs collapsed and the poison inside caused a massive crumble of tissue and structure.  He was gone before his head hit the floor.  

Kyanite blue in pyrophyllite stone


I never knew he couldn’t breathe. There was a ticking time bomb inside the man whose heart was overshadowed by a pair of lungs full of pyrophyllite dust. He never told me he couldn’t breathe!  I always thought he’d die of arthritis. Or working too hard. Or loving too much. I never dreamt he’d fall in a heap of poisoned air and give up the ghost on the kitchen floor. 

Look familiar?

He was too busy living to die of sensible causes. 
All he did was love me. In large loud bouts of contagious love. His love was all I heard. It. Was. All. He. Said.
Papa worked in a pyrophyllite plant (think talc) back in the day before it was safe to mine or breathe dust particles from the clay or work with the intensely heated kilns which were to used to mold particles for commodities like furniture. It caused fibrosis in some and unknown lung ailments in many. I didn’t know Papa couldn’t breathe. Apparently, neither did he. He just kept living. And loving everyone around him. Until he decided to fall on the kitchen floor. 

Kyanite

That one blue marble in the center of the bowl – yes, that one – is Kyanite, infused with and altered by pyrophyllite. It is a metamorphic mineral found in sedimentary rocks within soapstone mines in the southern United States, Brazil, New South Wales, Australia, India and Kenya. It contains aluminum silicate (hence the silent poison).


Kyanite gets its name from the Greek words for fire and leaf. Tonight I have discovered that this same blue stone has crystal healing properties especially in the throat area near the bronchial tubes.  I know little to nothing about the realm of gemstone metaphysics, but I do respect the power of Earth and the ancient wisdom of chakra healing. 
**You can’t breathe said the doctor You can’t breathe said the doctor*I never knew I couldn’t breathe until they told me I couldn’t breathe!! Has this ever happened to you?
And what other silent gift did he pass on to us?Pyrophyllite is also known as “Pencil Stone” (said The Pencil Skirt) and has been used to enhance writing abilities, helps to speak one’s truth with clarity and brings balance to all the Chakras. So you see, that wonderful blue marble we’ve gazed at since 2006 might well be one of the reasons that peace bloggers feel compelled to write. On some deep spiritual level we feel it. 
It’s alright if you don’t believe that. I’ve just unearthed this myself (so to speak). But doesn’t it make sense?  That blue stone became something beautifully rare and healing to all of us. Papa’s intent was good.Papa’s intent became our words.Papa’s destiny is still evolving.
I want mine to do the same.  Don’t you?
It wasn’t so much what he said throughout the years to his curly-headed, hardheaded granddaughter that made the cataclysmic shift in my DNA; it was the unspoken life of a simple man too busy living a simple life he loved to die conveniently proper. I want to die inconveniently improper too. 

Kyanite crystals.jpg
I think I just found my healer

 While Papa harvested dust and clay, he fashioned a symbol of the world for a granddaughter he couldn’t have known would ever even exist. Harvesting and working in the dust of those stones eventually led to his death. For him to pass this treasure on to me – to us – is surely more than coincidence. It illustrates how every single act we do on planet earth has a consequence, often far-reaching and seismic in nature. 
 All I remember was that he loved meand that was enough
He didn’t have to say a wordThat is the powerof words laid carefully round in blue Kyanite  

Jamie White ~ Washington


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Welcome to Blog4Peace 2018
Please visit each other and feel the power of this amazing day.

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Seven Ways To Remain More Peaceful This Week

Here are Seven Ways To Remain More Peaceful This Week
Practice one new strategy each day for the next 7 days until they become routine. Your mental health will thank you.
a peace globe by Steven Kochan from Florida

1. Take 5-10 minutes each day to stretch, do yoga, meditate, pray, or read. It’s a start. Small steps create lifelong habits. Lifelong habits create health and well-being.

2. Drink more water. Yes, I said H2O! Keeping yourself physically healthy is crucial when dealing with the stressful lives most of us lead.

3. Go to bed early. Adults need 7-9 hours of sleep each night. Awake refreshed and focused. You can’t “make it up” later.

4. Laugh (or a least smile broadly!) Find something humorous in each day. Even if it’s laughing at yourself. Work and life demands are serious enough. Let out a good ‘ole belly laugh now and then.  It makes people wonder.

5. Slow down.  Walk slower. Take your time. Rushing creates frantic people. Frantic people make mistakes and live in constant stress.  Chronic stress causes heart attacks. When you find yourself walking faster and faster to the next appointment or meeting, take a long deep breath and make longer strides down the hallway or across the parking lot.  I promise you’ll begin to feel more peaceful inside.

6. Unclutter and unplug. I am working on doing this in small chunks in my life.  For instance, on the way to work in the car, don’t think about work!! Just drive. Or ride the train and notice the scenery.  Or walk to work and listen to music. There are minutes here to sneak in some deep breathing and thankfulness thinking.  Take a mini-soul-vacation en route and on the way home. I personally like to unplug from all noise as soon as my workday ends. I don’t even listen to music on the radio.  Don’t let thoughts of work and what you have to do today or tomorrow create a frantic pace in your mind.

7.  Practice letting go of what you cannot control. I do this by asking myself the same question each night: Did I do the best I could today?  Answer the question and then let it go. Tomorrow is a new day, a clean slate.  This practice keeps me from carrying over resentment and worry into the next day. It forces me to throw away regrets of the day. Most of the time you can answer, “Yes! I did the best I could!” Give yourself an emotional pat on the back.  If you fall short occasionally, briefly vow to do better the next time you’re presented with the same set of circumstances and then move on. The other 99% of your day was indeed the best you could do! Now let it go.

Have a lovely week, Peace Bloggers!
~Mimi

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Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Gather Your Tribe

Welcome to BlogBlast For Peace 2016. We look forward to seeing your peace globe and reading your blog post or social media post! Please add your name to the Links in the sidebar so that we may read your contribution. Tag me on social media. Most of you are there! This is the tenth year of peace blogging. Thank you so much for keeping this movement alive and blessing me with your tales of peace and inspiration. It’s a launch.
Grant us peace.

My 2016 peace post is called
Gather Your Tribe

She’s been pulling things out of the closets and attic for weeks. My mother. 
Clothes, pottery, pictures, memories, toys, albums. She has not been well and well….I guess she felt it was time to get some things in order. Have you noticed that when people physically slow down their words get longer? And deeper.  Measured. Transparent.

Maybe it’s all about the struggle.
Ain’t nobody got time to blog for peace. Really, Miss Pencil Skirt? You want people to plop down a rosy picture on the subject of one of the greatest mysteries in life in the middle of the one of the worst years for strife we’ve ever seen? Really, Mimi?

Peace bloggers everywhere (myself included) are finding it challenging to come up with even one reason to be hopeful or optimistic in the world we live in today. I don’t need to reiterate the obvious.  Just check your newsfeed every hour and you’ll see all manner of inhuman atrocities, filthy immoral scandals, rumors of war in the newest of places, and people teetering on the edge of not being able to cope anymore.

“Go on, Mimi…try on this scarf. I wore it when I was in high school,” Mama said.

Mama’s scarf

    Money rules the world in every direction I look; lack of it or abuse of it for power’s sake. We are seeing whole tribes of people being uprooted and moved to the next nation until somebody figures out what to do with them. Children never sleep while the hovel around them crumbles. And on our side of the planet, I see unspoken concern and despair on the faces of people. Worry. Sickness. No health insurance. Jobs are scarce and underpaying. People are stressed beyond anything I’ve seen and hurting with no end in sight. 
While we’re forced to watch the vileness of the most shameful American election I’ve ever witnessed,  families are using and losing all they have just to pay the bills. They still manage to get up and go to work to make $12.00 an hour to feed a family of six while two billionaires banter back and forth about who contributed the most to charity on their tax returns.

Everyday average people don’t want to hear that. 
They just want a fair shot at the kind of prosperity given to the wealthiest among us. 
We need a government that understands how average income people are struggling and set about to correct the inequalities and injustices. People are tired of constant stress.


But back to the closet cleaning.
My mother told me of a lingering memory she has of her own mother.  She remembers seeing her walk to work down the middle of the railroad tracks in the early morning and back home again at night – sewing in a hosiery mill to feed five children. It didn’t matter if she was sick, she’d still go to work. And there was never enough to eat.

Women know the sacrifice and the value of work and that is why we
 keep things.
 It’s in our DNA.


Women treasure things that belonged
 to another female member of their tribe.
Because we know the value of things is not things.


So when she pulled out a bag full of scraps, scarves, jewelry and wedding lace, it felt like a sacred moment between us and all who walked before.  Another torch of strength passed from her hand to mine. 

The gloves

These were her gloves.
 Given to my mother.
And now given to me. 
It’s almost like I have her hands.

So,  I put them on.

And suddenly I felt my grandmother’s touch.  Hands that braided my hair into French braids over and over at night. I would mess it up just so I could feel her strong and gentle hands again. She tried to teach me to do it myself, but I secretly didn’t want to learn.

My great-grandmother’s handmade monogrammed handkerchief is to the left, along with a set of emerald green jewelry that I saw my grandmother wear from time to time – a gift from Papa.
Given to my mother.
And now given to me.

My beautiful grandmother, who gave me the wrinkle in my nose, never told me about the railroad tracks or the poverty. She wouldn’t talk about it. But I saw a strength and a dignity in her that could only be carried by one whose weary body and soul sought to feed hungry children with all the might she had. 


The gloves and the jewelry came later when Papa walked into her life. 
And oh, she knew the value. Stitched with love. Chosen with love. Worn with love.
Cherished through three generations.

Great-grandmother’s monogrammed handkerchief

If I could talk to that girl on the railroad tracks, the one with the heaviest of hearts, I would tell her to watch and wait…for you’re about to be blessed by the hand of love. Not only you, but your children and their children and their children too. It will only take one. Just him. But he’s enough.
And he will give you the gift of gloved hands and jewels.







And tonight, just for you Grandmother, I will wear them.

Tribe
If there’s power enough in the seas
and power enough in the waves
to land upon feet 
of Giants and Fleets
then there’s power enough
 in the least


For man is a jewel

man of sandstone and lime
fashioned headlong thru tumbling brine
designed by a Hand
that shapes trellis and tribe
each one molded
thru eons of time


Gather your tribe

and don’t let go
No matter the trouble it brings
When the world is askew
and all’s said and done
Wait for love
It only takes one


Goodnight Grandmother



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10 Days Until BlogBlast For Peace ~ Nov 4th!

Peace time is upon us. It is a time when we turn our thoughts to the possibility of ending the madness of war, the suffering of people and the crippling of nations and populations. While it is a time to reflect on the world at large and the challenges that face us, it is also a time to look inward, finding those crevices that allow harm and damage our souls, permeating our minds with negativity and weakness. We weren’t made for such thoughts. Man was created for richer things, purer things and powerful possibilities. Can we bring tangible peace to a world in turmoil with our thoughts and intentions? With our words?Perhaps not in a day. But in the culmination of such days and on a continuum of positive change and forward movement, in the process of  powerful and honest conversations across the tables of war that haunt our planet, we can bring about the hope of such a day.    The desire for freedom and to live at peace with our brothers on this globe we call Earth, must become a spoken word – because in the realm of unspoken intent, peace dies.  It cannot abide in the hearts of men forever locked away with keys of fear and pride. It must be talked about courageously and spoken of with reverence. Freedom. Peace. Prosperity. Purity. Hope. Goodness. Kindness. Love. Men who possess these traits are the most courageous men of all. 
  We see it in abundance in our world, but we place a greater premium on the pursuit of power. This must stop. Not just on the grand stages of war, but behind the doors of our homes. You know that place. It is the place where parents love children, where the young minister to the old, the temporarily weak rely on the generosity of the strong and where sacrifices become tethered and unbreakable bonds of unconditional love. Because that’s what love does.And that is who we are.  In a world where people serve one another without expectation of reward or self-promotion, we can live in peace. In a world where the touch of a stranger’s hand in the middle of a storm becomes a well of gratitude in someone’s soul, we can live in peace.  It is the reassuring warmth of other humans in times of great difficulty that cause men to experience a glimmer of grace. When men no longer feel like strangers in a divided world, but one whole of humanity, we can live in peace.   Nov 4th is a day to illuminate the part of you that reaches out to other people when you feel there is no reaching left. Even when people don’t reach back – still reach. It only takes one touch to heal your world. And it only takes a world of people willing to touch to heal the whole world.Are you ready?I am. Blog that peace, People. Say it from a heart of courageous and worthy intention. Work it in your families. Walk it behind closed doors. Then take it out the front door to the world and be a light that knows no darkness.Our theme is “Words in the hands of love.”You’ve got this.


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2. Send the finished peace globe to blog4peace@yahoo.com or TAG Mimi Lenox on Facebook

3. Post it anywhere online November 4
4. Title
your post or status Dona Nobis Pace
m (Latin for Grant us Peace) hashtag #blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Peace Globe #4300 ~ Mimi Writes (Mimi Lenox)

 Mimi’s Peace Stories Mimi Writes“The Woman of Leaves” Blog4PeaceMessage In A BottleDating Profile Of The Day Director, BlogBlast For Peace FacebookBloggingham PalaceOriginal Peace BloggerMimi Lenox, Founder Blog4Peace    Please join us! Blog4Peace November 4 and everyday on our Facebook pageOur Peace Store

What It Takes To Make a Revolution

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If all humans everywhere placed their source of peaceful energy and inherent goodness in the middle of the world on the earth’s axis, as this earth marble is placed at the center of the peace sign, our planet’s revolving would shift to a revolution so great the sun might need OUR light. 

 Please join us! Blog4Peace November 4 and everyday on our Facebook pageOur Peace StorePeace Bloggers Group

Do You Own Your Words?

Peace work is easy. Work it out inside yourself and spread it around. The world is not such a small place anymore. Every step you take matters. Every word you say now is heard, re-verbed, blogged and re-blogged, rehashed and hashed again. It is technologically possible to gossip in abstention whether we intend to or not, to piggy-back on the words of folks three comment threads down the food chain. We have become entangled in each others’ lives in ways we may never fully disentangle. We live in a great echo of noise and chatter. A world that is never silent. We have the peculiar responsibility of owning every gesture and utterance that might be captured with a camera or a cache. We will either choose to own it or we will choose to fall into the masses and let someone else own our words for us. I can’t think of anything more frightening. 

These marbles that once belonged to my grandfather, have traveled the world….from his hand to mine, from mine to yours, from yours all over the globe. In the form of words and symbols, in every peace post ever submitted since this movement began, they remain true to the foundation of what we believe in this house of peaceful globes;  that words are powerful, that we all matter, that we all have a voice and should use it for the common good. When we speak collectively with one single purpose in mind, our words form a community that ripples across the globe. They form a world we long to see.

If people can put that much intent into one day, as we do every year on Nov 4, then we can do it everyday. And if enough people do it everyday – or even try to do it everyday – the world will start to change.  It will start to change because that is the only way it is going to change.

The intent of hearts form thoughts, thoughts form words, words form action. No species will choose to live in war if the other clear choice is peace.  And when this willful metamorphosis is done singularly amid the masses, you will begin to see that what began as a chain of words and symbols from one person to another, has become a way of being among many.  When we see that diversity can and has united us, we will also hold fast with great intention to the uniformity that binds us.
Who would want to ever let that go?

It really doesn’t matter if you believe that peace blogging is a small thing or whether it has the ability to alter the way we live and the way countries interact.  You may believe that your splash in this pond means nothing more than a quickly dying ripple. That belief would be wrong. Because in the meta world of algorithms and synchronization, we are way past the point of needing to measure the effect of our words. Whatever they are, they have great power. So choose them wisely. Start to think now what you will say to the world in November, because those words will never go away.
 What you do and say as a peace blogger is indeed immeasurable. 

 Please join us! Blog4Peace November 4 and everyday on our Facebook page#blog4peace ~ Pin It ~ Our Peace Store Peace Bloggers Group  #blog4peace

Blog4Peace Globe #2598 ~ Message In A Bottle

 Message In A BottleThe Queen’s MemeMimi Writes… Dating Profile Of The Day Mimi Lenox

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Blog4Peace Globe #2454 ~ The Queen’s Meme

Bloggingham Palace ~ Mimi Lenox (Mimi Queen of Memes)
Original Peace Blogger
United States 

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