On fluttering arms and rhinestone lashes, the feathered passistas TOK-a-chica-ed to the front of the stage. The breath we’d been holding was swallowed by the bateria, this time in four-part harmony:
“Vem Magalenha rojão, traz a lenha pro fogão,
vem fazer armação.
Hoje é um dia de sol, alegria de coió,
é curtir o verão.”
Every hair on my arm whispered “vem.”
With a crescent wink
coyote sister calls: come –
we’ll sleep tomorrow.
Desert scribble, 6 am coyote alarm, Ajo, Arizona
The pupil asked, “What is it that keeps you going?”
The wise sage laughed. “When I feel like stopping, I tell God: I’ll keep picking them up if you keep putting them down!”
On Saturday morning I was talking with my parents and I shared an anecdote about one of my favorite teachers, Dr. Wayne Dyer: last week, he posted on Facebook that he keeps a suit in his closet with the pocket cut out. It’s a reminder that when he’s gone, he won’t be taking anything with him.
On Sunday, I learned that Dr. Wayne Dyer had died in his sleep overnight. I cried when I learned the news (not for him, of course, because he’s on to greater adventures), but for all of us who have benefited from his teaching. I’m sad because I can no longer learn what he is thinking about Today.
One of the most lasting messages of Wayne Dyer will be “don’t die with your music still inside you.” Don’t wait until you’re gone to do that thing that you’ve always wanted to do.
I fell asleep on Sunday night listening to one of Wayne Dyer’s audio recordings, comforting myself that I can honor him by making his teachings new for me again. Then I woke up on Monday and got to work on my book.
In honor of Dr. Wayne Dyer, answer these questions for yourself:
At the end of your life, what are the things that you don’t want to die wondering?
What do you not want to leave undone, unlearned, unloved, or unsaid?
Start today.
she said:
start from the inside
and work your way out
you gotta love you like you’re
I said:
I get what you’re saying
and this week’s been crazy
but Friday
I should have some time.
Today, the world heard the announcement that in the United States, Love is Love. In a 5-4 vote, the Supreme Court’s decision to legalize same-sex marriage in all 50 states is a victory for all of us. Any time the planet tilts in favor of love, everyone wins.
Even with so much to celebrate, there is a rawness to timing of this event in the wake of the murder of nine congregants in Charleston, South Carolina. How it can be that in the same week where such unimaginable hate could exist, Love can come back with such force that it can literally change the world? How can these events happen so close together?
In Michael Singer’s newest book, “The Surrender Experiment,” he wrote “The universe has been around for 13.8 billion years, and the processes that determine the flow of life around us did not begin when we were born, nor will they end when we die.”
You have likely experienced the great balancing act in your own life – one week it’s all happiness and flow, and the next, uncertainty and heartbreak. That’s when we need to remind ourselves that it’s not all up to us. There are forces that determine everything from how much rain falls to when there is drought; how wars are waged to when peace is won. And whether we understand how victory and tragedy can coexist, the fact is that they do.
Ultimately, the case presented to the Supreme Court in favor of gay marriage was based on more than just equality – it was about compassion. History has shown us that sometimes, it’s not until we understand something on a personal and visceral level that dramatic and lasting change can occur.
If Love is to prevail in your life, in mine, in your neighbor’s home, and in a quiet place of worship that once burned to the ground and rose again from the ashes – and will again – each and every one of us must consider that we are part of this Universal Balancing Act. There is always, and there is still yet, more important work to be done.
You are a part of The Big Plan, and no single aspect of your own path is ever separate from the path of the person next you. Every act of compassion, every thoughtful word, and every kindness matters, no matter how small. 
Do it for Love.
Leigh Hopkins created Viva Institute in 2008 with the goal of creating an organizational catalyst for personal transformation. She received her Bachelors in Elementary Education and Music and a Masters in Education. She has a certificate in Plant-Based Nutrition from Cornell University and is a certified Usui Reiki Master. Ela fala português, ella habla español, sta lavorando al suo italiano and on good days, she even remembers English.
Raise your shield
seal the gates
gather your sisters
around you
to wait.
Let the winds howl
watch the waters rise
when the storms rage
we’ll pay them
no mind.
Joan has put away the armor
Iemanja fastened the sluice
Caitlyn will hold up her mirror
and honor you
with your Truth.
Go on, girl: let your hair down.
Mother Maya of the Angels:
shake our stories loose!
Throw our words
like confetti
and we’ll take them to the skies.
We’ll gather the pieces
reassemble their meaning
weave them into the fabric
of We —
you and I.
Together,
we speak
Together,
we cry
Together,
we dance
Together,
we rise.
— for The Sedona Tribe (with special honors for Caitlyn Jenner).
don’t speak to me
of mass
or matter
when for me,
you have always been
gravity
and light.
whether it takes
30 years or
30 lifetimes
time has no bearing.
you travel
at the speed of Love:
a force,
when multiplied,
infinitely more generous
exponentially more expansive
than time or space.
in our equation
time has no bearing.
I can’t stop thinking about Apollo and Daphne.
There was so much of Rome to taste and explore, but when I look back, I know that my future memories of my time in that ancient city may come down to this one breathtaking sculpture.
Apollo and Daphne live(s) at the Villa di Borghese in Rome. When sculptor Gianlorenzo Bernini created this masterpiece between 1622-24, it was during the height of the paragone — a Renaissance debate that put into question whether painting, sculpture, or literature was the most descriptive medium for depicting nature or conveying human emotion.
In Apollo and Daphne, Bernini carved out all of the raw emotion and inner conflict that so many artists and writers have spent lifetimes trying to convey. I walked around the sculpture for thirty minutes or more, taking in the upswept arms, the feet, flung behind, the feet turning to roots, fingers to branches…
The work captures the chaos and uncertainty of the human condition; the aching and the longing; the desire for intimate, ecstatic love; the quest to be wholly ourselves while honoring the Divinity in another. It brings to life the fear that chases love into the shadows and the transformation that sends it into eternity.
What I can’t get away from, what has literally kept me up at night, is the reminder of my own yearning to convey the multi-dimensional truth of who we are. We are more than 3-D. None of us can judge our own worthiness until we have walked around so deeply inside ourselves that we finally understand that there is no aspect of who we are that is separate from others.
To experience this just as I’m about to teach a workshop in Sedona on women’s storytelling and personal mythology, followed by a summer of deep writing — it was everything.
To see more photos from Italy or to learn about the myth of Apollo and Daphne, join me on Facebook. I’m now on Instagram, so stop by and show me how it’s done.
Here’s the thing: some of life is crazy-amazing; some of it’s hard, sad, and confusing; and some of it is just straight-up crazy. That’s why when you see magic happening, you need to call it what it is.
When we planned the trip to Italy, we had no idea that our last night in Assisi coincided with Calendimaggio, the biggest festival of the year. The residents spend all year preparing for this four-day Medieval May Day festival, which is an elaborate, citywide reenactment of 13th Century life in Assisi — produced, directed and acted by residents, for residents.
We knew something important was about to happen when wax-filled tin cans with enormous burlap wicks were placed outside our door earlier that morning. The city’s narrow water pipes were wrapped and tied with dried olive branches, and all street-level lighting was covered in dark cloth. Very mysterious — why the big effort?
We went about our day of sightseeing and painting, but when we tried to return to the apartment in late afternoon, we were informed by the police that we couldn’t get back into our apartment for (4 fingers held up) hours, no matter how much we had to pee.
In just four days, we had come to know our neighborhood well enough to backtrack through the piazza and head up through another stone passageway. We carried our market bags up two hundred steps or so, through more cobblestone streets, past the Cathedral of San Ruffino, and down another few sets of stairs to reach our apartment.
As we began packing up our bags for Rome, men appeared in the street outside our door to light the tin can luminaries. When we poked our heads outside, we were amazed to see that all of the city lights had been turned off, and every effort had been made to remove all signs of modern life. It was like we were living in a 13th Century town — the effect was incredible!
Our narrow street was a flurry of activity: people rushed up and down the stairs dressed in Medieval costumes — from ragged-looking serfs to exquisitely dressed royals, barmaids, knights, and monks — all of them, very serious about their roles. Our street had been magically transformed into the backstage for the main attraction in the piazza below.
We hadn’t bought tickets for the performance, so recognizing the opportunity for what it was, I made a big arugula and tomato salad, poured a glass of cold, dry white wine, and pulled a chair outside the apartment door to watch. For more than an hour, we watched the performers running up and down the torchlit stairs from the public stage below to a private stage in the walled garden above us. At one point, they must have been reenacting a brothel scene, and the glowing streets echoed with the sounds of the actors’ cries.
In flickering light, we tiptoed up the steep cobblestone steps and through the narrow passageways, creeping quietly down dark alleys and peering into ancient, walled rose gardens. I felt five and five hundred; new and ancient, at once.
As we made our way down the steps one last time, I gazed up at the starlit sky, marveling at this crazy-amazing life that offered us the gift to wander, unseen, through the streets of a medieval city on the first night of Calendimaggio.
LEIGH HOPKINS 