My First Book Has Been Published!

A challenge to take the courageous journey into the inner world of your own spirit and to become intimately acquainted with the voice of God within. 

Available on Kindle

The Living Among the Dead

"Seize the moment! Live in the moment! That's all we really have is this very moment!" Yet moments, like snowflakes in sunshine, a tapestry of beauty and splendor, melt away; One by one they come and go;  We grasp at them, as if we could take hold, roll them into large balls and shape them into something that will last a bit longer. And yet, a short walk through cemetery jolts us into the reality that, the end of all moments is at hand . . .

Some are remembered, some are longed for, some are ill-reputed, and some . . . forgotten!

Reverently we walk, the living among the dead; The dry grasses crunch beneath our feet and we wonder if the dead are stirred to come and visit with us as we brush away dirt and cobwebs from their long forgotten tombstones. 

We find names that match people we love; our heart is pricked; We read ages, some had a lifetime of moments; some breathed but a few days of this earths winds. My heart weeps for the mama's and papa's who were left with moments of broken and bleeding, and it aches for lovers whose joyous moments were torn asunder with the knife of grief. 

And I discover, that even among the tombstones, where the crumbled earth cradles what's left of the one who once grasped for the snowflakes, pockets of beauty are strewn- a holy repose of eternal moments, reminding us, that the soul lives on . . .

"It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting; for that is the end of all men, and the living will lay it to his heart." Ecclesiates 7:2 

Coloma's Gold Discovery Park

A wind-and-weave drive up into the foothills, we visited the hub of the Gold Rush- Coloma California.

Weekdays the traffic is minimal. Campers are dotted along the American River-bed; a few rafters brave the currents;

A light summer breeze cools our dampened skin; Water bottles are dry; We walk on, so much to see. . .

Broken granite stones seize the imagination with its left over bars and cells of the jail that once held the riotous, drunken, and even murderers.

Trees of all sorts- majestic Oaks, beautiful Walnuts, Maples, Sycamores, Pines and lovely Figs, display their weather-beaten scars, born courageously, and whisper secrets of long ago, in a language all their own.

A short rest, fresh cool water, power bars and the car rides up the little hill where a monument of James W. Marshall, discoverer of gold, is erected.

We take in the panorama of Coloma's country life stretched out before us; We pause and our awakened senses feast.

The moments drifted quickly. The ache of long hot walks has caught up and we are ready to wind back down the road to our abode. Dad's invigorated and points to all he sees with child-like enthusiasm. He stops the car to try and grasp on to one more moment, to make it last a little longer. With camera in hand, he freezes the bridge for memory of that luscious scene.

The promise of a chocolate dipped ice cream cone on the way home, offers solace for the closure of a few precious moments now passed.

Visit Gold Discovery Park Association

Full Moon On the Rise

The sprinklers tick tick tick; 

the neighborhood hounds are frisky and calling to one another;  

Even the orbs gather round to celebrate her glory. 

The dark is alive and beating with a distant drum. 

People are gathering, under the moon tonight-the beautiful Super Moon. 

There is no humble bow of her brilliance. 

She proudly draws closer than she's been all year, in a ceremonial exhibition.  

My camera hungrily laps the brilliant scene, 
and I inwardly bemoan that it cannot replicate the perception of my vision. 

In wonder I gaze into her splendor. 

The nocturnal chatter quiets my soul.

Call it Country

Photos by Felecia Van Cleve

Summer Garden

This year we did not buy a truckload of organic compost for the garden and I definitely have seen the difference in production. However, we still have plenty. Loving my summer garden.

With Brave Wings She Flies!

WITH BRAVE WINGS SHE FLIES!

It's been almost a year since I left the church I had been a part of for close to 20 years. With all the courage I could muster, I walked out of the inner world of protocol, dogma and dictation and out into a world of uncertainty and misgiving. I waited for the sky to fall, for the serpent to bite, for the wrath of God to shake his finger at me and claim me a heretic doomed for hell's fires. Every slip away from the rules and regulations I had so faithfully adhered to, was followed by accusations that I was the devil's advocate and would soon be "seven times worse than before."

It wasn't a hasty nor a light decision. It began a few years prior, when in a desperate cry for relief from a monotonous, insipid life, I began to pray that God would take every ounce of religious spirit out of me and to help me to be a proper representative of him. Over the years, the splits, fighting, hurt and drama I had witnessed at church and in the religious world at large, I knew God could not be the instigator of it all. I was so discouraged and let down. I could not envision the entire world being locked down in this systematic way of living. Though I knew the world at large has great needs, this routine was not the answer.

I read several books by different women who were involved in religious cults. I saw the same fears of leaving, of God's wrath, of being the only way to heaven used on each one of these women. It opened my eyes to the manipulation of fear, and I saw that what was holding me to that church was no longer a love for Christ and his work; Somewhere along the way, that had been lost in all the do's and dont's and the complete take over of my life. I knew I was no longer happy there, that I was dying inside and they did not have the solution. And I knew that the only thing that was continuing to hold me there, was fear.

In the mean time, God was working so gently within my heart, calling me closer to him and giving me my wings. I read a book titled Half The Sky written by two journalist who traveled to several countries and witnessed the violation and oppression of women and young girls in developing countries. The stories in this book were absolutely horrific; A complete paradigm shift was going on inside of me. Little by little God began to rock my world so severely and I knew I needed to leave religion behind me.

One day it dawned upon me that these women were in countries and/or positions where they had no say about what was being done them. I thought about all the religious oppression world wide where torture and blood shed awaits any who would dare question the system. And here I was in AMERICA- the land of the FREE choosing OPPRESSION! I knew at that moment that this was not just about me. My freedom was about every man, woman and child out there who have no rights. My freedom was not to be taken lightly. My freedom was their HOPE!

One day I saw a vision of myself. I was in a large cage, curled up in a ball, crying. The door of the cage was wide open but I was too terrified to leave, because I believed the serpent waited without to devour me. Then God spoke to me and told me to use my wings and fly away.

It took a great amount of courage to leave flying straight towards my deepest fear. But the day I flew away, a great load lifted off of me and I knew, I had just taken my first step towards TRUE FREEDOM!- That freedom that comes from within, that nothing in this world can ever steal away- that freedom of KNOWING I have wings, and God is the wind beneath them, and that nothing could ever separate me from him. The day I walked away, was the beginning of my personal inner freedom;

Thank God for America- May God bless her. May she rise up and hold the freedom she still has left. May she continue to hold a scepter of HOPE out to the world.

Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.

Martin Luther King, Jr.