$issue = 'POSSIBILITIES Issue, September — December 2007'; $articlecss = 'css/main.css'; $keywords = 'moondance, columns, inspiring, literature, women, woman, bitch, diane e. dees, lucinda nelson dhavan, cynthia joan porter, katie weekley'; $description = 'A collection of inspiring poetry, art and literature written for women. Moondance e-zine has opinions, columns, fiction, writing, song and story, inspirational art and fine poetry.'; $title = 'Columns - September - December 2007'; include INCDIR.'/header_content.inc'; ?>
About a month ago, an idea overtook me—literally reached out, grabbed hold, and refused to let go. I walked onto my dilapidated deck and imagined something new in my back yard, something different, something that called to my soul.
I read horoscopes to remember what I longed for now that most of those glowing possibilities have turned into earthly realities. Yes, reading my horoscope can make me feel like most of the possibilities that used to be ahead of me lie behind me now. But that's not necessarily a bad feeling.
Mea culpa. At some point between my French idyll and my rosy recollections of it, I'd turned into the kind of woman who'd buy a freezer-full of bread to save a few minutes and, in so doing, would break a chain of communication that had been sustained for centuries by nothing more than the good manners of giving time to others.
Out of habit, I dutifully checked the contents of the morning tray. There are only six things they try to bleach away from places like this: the remains of feces, urine, vomit, blood, death, and the food. The tray today, as always, looked like it contained a little bit of each.
Possiblities - Transformation is exhilarating as we reinvent and transform, accepting our problems as challenges. Explain how you found being open to all possibilities helped you adapt and yield then move forward with potential change.
I know a health practitioner who, at her first meetings with clients, gives them a card that reads: Consider that one thing you believe about yourself may not be true.
"Do you still love me? You never iron my shirts anymore," my husband said, implying that this act of smoothing creases indicates our passion is still alive.