The Christmas that almost wasn’t…

We were standing on the edge of the horizon, funny, but from up here, we looked over the horizon and down. It didn’t need to be that way, we could choose a different perspective, but some of our Earth habits remained. Looking down, we noticed a growing shimmering, a cloud rising and expanding, trying to obscure the view, luckily, we have never needed our eyes to see. That’s not to say we did not use them anyway.

Beneath the cloud, there was a pulsating orb of darkness. Not evil, sadness. The sadness was creeping in all directions, filling the space around it, and beneath and within was a family.

A mother wrung her hands as she looked out the window, practicing her smile. It’s not that she didn’t know how to smile, it had just been a very long time since she could do so without having to perform. We knew this woman, she had been flagged as a child as one that could keep the light. We watched her, it was all we were allowed to do, her forgotten contract was to march through the darkness. We loved her so very much when she looked at the moon and smiled and thanked her, calling her Mamma Moon, when she sang beneath the stars, off key, but singing nevertheless, the same songs over and over again. She would play in the forest, inventing games, not recalling that the games were real. She was lovely to behold, she gave forth a pure light, energy, that could not be dimmed.

The years went on.

You see, part of her contract was to remain true to her heart, despite what might be delivered along the way. We watched her light, it would dim at times, but never dip so low that we were afraid. We needed her light, she was a pinpoint across a map finely drawn long ago.

She was tempted, sorely over the years, to turn her back on those that had closed the doors only to knock again, asking for help. She had bleak moments, we always knew but it became more poingant depending upon what song she sang. When she asked in her songs to be heard, when she sang of the promise, we always knew she was still on track.

One day, the songs ended.

Some of us recalled, from prior lives, that everyone can change. They can paint and stop painting. They can write and stop writing. The only thing they can’t do is love and stop loving because love is never ending. They can only be mistaken with the word.

Christmas neared, the woman’s favorite time of year. She was not very hung up on either the history of Christmas or the present day madness, she loved the love, she loved the very joy of people wanting to do something for one another. Then, it seemed, her threads broke, the ones she had knotted and repaired and reinforced, snapped. She was on the edge of losing her love of Christmas.

We spoke among ourselves, we knew the rules. We could not show her or give her a glimpse of what is. It was horribly frustrating because even a mere glimpse would restore her light upon remembrance. We volleyed back and forth, giving reasons for and against, but we knew, God asked us, please, don’t go against this promise, the promise I gave her, that only she could summon forth the time to remember. If we interfere now, she will not know, if she could have remembered through love.



How do we move forward?

Many of us don’t know where to turn.

Where do we go with the degrees we have earned and are paying on still? How do we counsel children, turned teenagers, soon to be adults, to make a living in the future?

The map is open.

Today, we turn you toward micro-loans. Many of you that often visit here are not immune to that term, it is people helping people, for instance: Kiva

Here at SurfaceEarth, it is our goal, to start an exchange by country/state/zip codes where we can help each other, it may be slow, reminiscent of snail mail, but suppose, we could achieve a web to truly help each other and catch each other before we fall?

Stay tuned, we intend to start that web and ask you to be a part of same.


Shelley helping the kids, the innocents, in India

Many of you may have read Shelley Seale’s article, posted a few days ago here, The Weight of Silence….

Now maybe you may take a moment and watch her video on these utterly beautiful innocent souls, and if you do, maybe you will pass it on and on, and stop at her site and buy her book.

It starts now.

Shelly & her kids

The lack of hope is a bitter pill

Have you ever experienced moments in your life, where you knew not what to believe?

Who to trust?

Where to turn?

Whether it was because you live paycheck to paycheck and the lack of one sent your known life into oblivion or because there were too many agendas surrounding you, and you did not know, did not have the strength to tune into your own knowledge?

What then?

It is the lack of hope scenario.

Have you ever lacked hope?

It is the most bitter pill to swallow, and it must be swallowed, because when you lack hope, you still draw air from a primal perspective to carry on, but oh, your soul is crying.

To anyone that has swallowed that bitter pill, that may be swallowing it now, I tell you, it goes down easier with water, and as long as you continue to breath, we will find a way for that pool of water, that oasis in the desert.

Namaste, you are not alone.


Hope is a glorious word.

I don’t want to give you links.

I don’t want to give you anything outside of yourself.

Hope is a glorious word.

It has the energy of food, of money, of …. well, of hope.

When we are without hope, it is easy to know, it is a vast desert of despair, when we regain that light, that glimmer of hope, the universe shifts, and shifts again.

I know hope.  I also know the lack of hope.

I wish upon all of you to find your hope, and to hold on.