Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

The miracle move story:

Expand Messages
  • jodybol
    OK Sharani, I m accepting the challenge: The miracle move story: If you can hold your breath for more than a minute while underwater, upside down, doing the
    Message 1 of 7 , Dec 6, 2006
    • 0 Attachment
      OK Sharani, I'm accepting the challenge:

      The miracle move story:

      If you can hold your breath for more than a minute while underwater, upside down, doing
      the splits and then spinning around – at the exact same time that your two trio partners
      are at the exact same angle - and then emerge and propel your body far enough out of
      the water to display your entire sequined swimsuit – and smile as if it were effortless –
      then you're probably a talented synchronized swimmer. I know because my daughter,
      Rashmi, has been committed to this Olympic sport for 6 years.

      That's what began the saga.

      99% of the swimmers who make a national team in the US swim with one of 3 California
      teams. We lived on the east coast. Last Easter we visited those three teams and identified
      our favorite location – 40 miles east of San Francisco. Since this was a huge move with
      ramifications for all three of us, I did seek advise. The "very good" got everything going.

      In June, I spent 2 days in Walnut Creek, a small town adjacent to Mt Diablo – a golden
      mountain dotted with grayed oak trees, looking for a place to live. (For collectors of trivia –
      one can see more territory from Mt Diablo than from any other place on earth)

      California is a very expensive place to live – even more than New York and Washington DC.
      After 48 hours of intense hunting, at 10pm I made 2 offers. Like the 12 hour walk, the
      outer activity wasn't easy but the inner work was a bear - of fighting my exhaustion,
      panic, doubt and anxiety about doing the wrong thing and trusting that we would end up
      in the "right place".

      I bought a small townhouse within walking distance of where she swims. The closing was
      set for August 4 and I had no contingency for selling my house. (For those less familiar
      with house purchases – that meant I was committed.)

      I flew back to Maryland after napping on the broker's floor for 3 hours and began the
      process. My house looked like a New York apartment inhabited by too many boys in the
      middle of celebrations. It needed so much work that the real estate brokers I interviewed
      gave wildly different estimates of how much it was worth and emphasized the extent of
      what needed to be done.

      A WASTED MOMENT IS THE VERY BEGINNING OF MY FAILURE LIFE.

      ACTION, ACTION, PREFERABLY HEART ACTION, ALL THE TIME.
      (All CAPS are unofficial Sri Chinmoy quotes)


      Those two unofficial Christmas Trip aphorisms kept going through my head – not always
      in their constructive interpretations.

      The house turned into a Marx Brothers production. A team of girl college students helped
      me sort, give away, sell, throw out and pack. What a journey emotionally as I had tossed
      everything from Florida in a moving truck after my husband, Peter's death - and then
      stashed most of it in the attic. The boxes began piling up –to move, to sell, to give away.
      And books – hundreds of books – to the library – to the Centre – to the school, and clothes
      and keep-sakes. Constant battles for simplicity and letting go – painful for a packrat
      clutching at memories.

      Meantime I was also interviewing people to paint, plumb, fix and run electrical, put in
      mirrors and glass, clear out the jungle in the back yard, plant, clean brick, replace rotten
      boards (well you get the idea). And trying to get Pathik and his friends to take on some of
      the tasks was like rounding up mercury. I tried recruiting with the bait of earning money
      for college (and helping me out – since "handyman - WASP" rates are highway robbery -
      $30 -$50 per hour)

      My favorite worker story concerns "a painter" from Peru who became my entree into the
      Latin American network. He knew people who did all kinds of things. Spanish was spoken
      more in the house than English. Works swirled in and out like mini tornadoes. Everyone
      loved in–the-heart Alfredo.

      Periodically he braved the obstacle course to play the piano. What a gift is music. It – and
      the compassion - grounded me when I was overwhelmed into tears or shrewish shrieking.
      And - his wife cleaned and one of his piano students bought my piano.

      This went on for weeks and I found myself envying Suprabha for the imagined calm of
      running around the block in New York having people bring her food.

      IF GOD THINKS I CAN, THEN DEFINITELY I CAN, I MUST DO IT, I HAVE DONE IT, MY GOD-
      SURRENDER, UNCONDITIONAL.

      The thought of simultaneously owning two houses was enough to make my stomach
      churn. I kept asking for guidance about which real estate broker to sign with - and kept
      coming up with - nothing. So the house was not even listed as "for sale" and the date of
      Two Mortgages was fast approaching.

      One day, in despair, I was talking to a friend in New Jersey about all the stuff still in the
      house. She emphatically tells me I need to have a yard sale. I spit out that I hate them and
      have neither the time, patience nor perspective to organize one. So she offers to take the
      train down and run it for me - if I'll get everything in the yard.

      I hire all my college workers who essentially throw everything in the house out in the yard.
      This includes 30 years of tools as big as table and band saws and drill presses and our
      sailing gear. And my desires are like mad elephants – "That's a valuable ___, I can't give
      that up."

      Carol began putting up "moving sale" signs and organizing in the hope that someone
      would show up. No junkyard offered more clutter and variety. I bolted - unable to handle
      $300 items sold for $15 to people who thought they were paying too much.

      One mini miracle occurred when she had the inspiration to look inside an old plaid wool
      jacket pocket – and discovered enough money to pay for her train fare.

      An hour after the sale was scheduled to end, I return. A young couple with 2 small kids is
      wandering about. They like my location at the end of the street, the Japanese maple in full
      display and the shallow creek behind. They live in the neighborhood so we share stories of
      why we like our family-friendly Hillmead.

      They talk about needing to enlarge their kitchen – I tell my stories of knocking down walls
      to create a new kitchen. They explain that the thought of remodeling with two tots isn't
      appealing. They ask more about the kitchen and I take a deep breath, tell them that the
      place looks like a Katrina victim and that they'll have to navigate between boxes but...we
      venture in.

      They love the kitchen, maple trim I hand sanded with 200 grit, oak floors I stroked with
      polyurethane and my splurge of red granite. Eventually I show them what can be seen of
      the rest of the house. They mention that they may be interested. I tell them that I haven't
      committed to a broker and I'm leaving in less than a week so if they are interested we
      ought to move quickly. (Not using a broker saves tens of thousands of dollars!)

      Three days later we are in the shared lawyer's office. We draw up a contract without any
      contingencies (very unusual in the US) as they've gotten bridge financing and TRUST us to
      complete the work we've started. (Totally unusual)

      When I visit them in November they tell me again that they love the house. They add that it
      never really felt that they'd bought the house as much as that I had drawn them to the
      house.

      I know what had really drawn them. And I am so grateful.

      MY OWN GRATITUDE HEART IS ALL THAT MATTERS.

      [Quotes above are unofficial]
    • kamalakanta47
      Jody, what a story! Here is a little miracle new car story, which I might have told before and forgotten I did so! After joining Sri Chinmoy s Path in New
      Message 2 of 7 , Dec 9, 2006
      • 0 Attachment
        Jody, what a story!

        Here is a little miracle "new car" story, which I might have told
        before and forgotten I did so!

        After joining Sri Chinmoy's Path in New York, I completed my
        Bachelor's Degree in music theory, and moved back to Puerto Rico,
        tired of analysing music to the point where I could not listen to
        music without dissecting it in so many mental ways....

        My mother gave me a car, a Toyota Corona, and I moved near the beach
        in Puerto Rico. I was young, disorganized, always in a frenzy, and had
        no idea how to take care of a car.

        When you live next to the beach, the salt in the ocean will eat up
        your car's paint, unless you wash it every other day and wax it well.
        Needless to say, I was not even close.

        The car started rusting, and rusting, and rusting....to the point that
        the license plate in the back fell off, for nothing could hold it...in
        a few short years I ruined a car that should have lasted twenty more!

        It reached a point where I was really upset every time I got in the
        car...I had no money to buy a new one, although a new one was
        needed...I had been doing a mantra for money, but was not very
        disciplined at it...once in a while it would come to my mind.

        One good day I decided to visit my brother Martin, who lived around 15
        miles from my house. So I arrived, unannounced and uninvited, at my
        brother's house, and started calling out his name.

        Suddenly, my mother, who lives more than ten miles from my brother's
        house, appears in her car, and asks me to get in the car with her. We
        drive once around the block. She stops her car and says: "I am going
        to give you the down payment for a new car". A week later I had a new car.

        How did she know I was going there? I told no one! A little miracle
        indeed!

        Kamalakanta

        --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, jodybol <no_reply@...>
        wrote:
        >
        > OK Sharani, I'm accepting the challenge:
        >
        > The miracle move story:
        >
        > If you can hold your breath for more than a minute while underwater,
        upside down, doing
        > the splits and then spinning around – at the exact same time that
        your two trio partners
        > are at the exact same angle - and then emerge and propel your body
        far enough out of
        > the water to display your entire sequined swimsuit – and smile as if
        it were effortless –
        > then you're probably a talented synchronized swimmer. I know because
        my daughter,
        > Rashmi, has been committed to this Olympic sport for 6 years.
        >
        > That's what began the saga.
        >
        > 99% of the swimmers who make a national team in the US swim with one
        of 3 California
        > teams. We lived on the east coast. Last Easter we visited those
        three teams and identified
        > our favorite location – 40 miles east of San Francisco. Since this
        was a huge move with
        > ramifications for all three of us, I did seek advise. The "very
        good" got everything going.
        >
        > In June, I spent 2 days in Walnut Creek, a small town adjacent to Mt
        Diablo – a golden
        > mountain dotted with grayed oak trees, looking for a place to live.
        (For collectors of trivia –
        > one can see more territory from Mt Diablo than from any other place
        on earth)
        >
        > California is a very expensive place to live – even more than New
        York and Washington DC.
        > After 48 hours of intense hunting, at 10pm I made 2 offers. Like the
        12 hour walk, the
        > outer activity wasn't easy but the inner work was a bear - of
        fighting my exhaustion,
        > panic, doubt and anxiety about doing the wrong thing and trusting
        that we would end up
        > in the "right place".
        >
        > I bought a small townhouse within walking distance of where she
        swims. The closing was
        > set for August 4 and I had no contingency for selling my house. (For
        those less familiar
        > with house purchases – that meant I was committed.)
        >
        > I flew back to Maryland after napping on the broker's floor for 3
        hours and began the
        > process. My house looked like a New York apartment inhabited by too
        many boys in the
        > middle of celebrations. It needed so much work that the real estate
        brokers I interviewed
        > gave wildly different estimates of how much it was worth and
        emphasized the extent of
        > what needed to be done.
        >
        > A WASTED MOMENT IS THE VERY BEGINNING OF MY FAILURE LIFE.
        >
        > ACTION, ACTION, PREFERABLY HEART ACTION, ALL THE TIME.
        > (All CAPS are unofficial Sri Chinmoy quotes)
        >
        >
        > Those two unofficial Christmas Trip aphorisms kept going through my
        head – not always
        > in their constructive interpretations.
        >
        > The house turned into a Marx Brothers production. A team of girl
        college students helped
        > me sort, give away, sell, throw out and pack. What a journey
        emotionally as I had tossed
        > everything from Florida in a moving truck after my husband, Peter's
        death - and then
        > stashed most of it in the attic. The boxes began piling up –to move,
        to sell, to give away.
        > And books – hundreds of books – to the library – to the Centre – to
        the school, and clothes
        > and keep-sakes. Constant battles for simplicity and letting go –
        painful for a packrat
        > clutching at memories.
        >
        > Meantime I was also interviewing people to paint, plumb, fix and run
        electrical, put in
        > mirrors and glass, clear out the jungle in the back yard, plant,
        clean brick, replace rotten
        > boards (well you get the idea). And trying to get Pathik and his
        friends to take on some of
        > the tasks was like rounding up mercury. I tried recruiting with the
        bait of earning money
        > for college (and helping me out – since "handyman - WASP" rates are
        highway robbery -
        > $30 -$50 per hour)
        >
        > My favorite worker story concerns "a painter" from Peru who became
        my entree into the
        > Latin American network. He knew people who did all kinds of things.
        Spanish was spoken
        > more in the house than English. Works swirled in and out like mini
        tornadoes. Everyone
        > loved in–the-heart Alfredo.
        >
        > Periodically he braved the obstacle course to play the piano. What a
        gift is music. It – and
        > the compassion - grounded me when I was overwhelmed into tears or
        shrewish shrieking.
        > And - his wife cleaned and one of his piano students bought my piano.
        >
        > This went on for weeks and I found myself envying Suprabha for the
        imagined calm of
        > running around the block in New York having people bring her food.
        >
        > IF GOD THINKS I CAN, THEN DEFINITELY I CAN, I MUST DO IT, I HAVE
        DONE IT, MY GOD-
        > SURRENDER, UNCONDITIONAL.
        >
        > The thought of simultaneously owning two houses was enough to make
        my stomach
        > churn. I kept asking for guidance about which real estate broker to
        sign with - and kept
        > coming up with - nothing. So the house was not even listed as "for
        sale" and the date of
        > Two Mortgages was fast approaching.
        >
        > One day, in despair, I was talking to a friend in New Jersey about
        all the stuff still in the
        > house. She emphatically tells me I need to have a yard sale. I spit
        out that I hate them and
        > have neither the time, patience nor perspective to organize one. So
        she offers to take the
        > train down and run it for me - if I'll get everything in the yard.
        >
        > I hire all my college workers who essentially throw everything in
        the house out in the yard.
        > This includes 30 years of tools as big as table and band saws and
        drill presses and our
        > sailing gear. And my desires are like mad elephants – "That's a
        valuable ___, I can't give
        > that up."
        >
        > Carol began putting up "moving sale" signs and organizing in the
        hope that someone
        > would show up. No junkyard offered more clutter and variety. I
        bolted - unable to handle
        > $300 items sold for $15 to people who thought they were paying too much.
        >
        > One mini miracle occurred when she had the inspiration to look
        inside an old plaid wool
        > jacket pocket – and discovered enough money to pay for her train fare.
        >
        > An hour after the sale was scheduled to end, I return. A young
        couple with 2 small kids is
        > wandering about. They like my location at the end of the street, the
        Japanese maple in full
        > display and the shallow creek behind. They live in the neighborhood
        so we share stories of
        > why we like our family-friendly Hillmead.
        >
        > They talk about needing to enlarge their kitchen – I tell my stories
        of knocking down walls
        > to create a new kitchen. They explain that the thought of remodeling
        with two tots isn't
        > appealing. They ask more about the kitchen and I take a deep breath,
        tell them that the
        > place looks like a Katrina victim and that they'll have to navigate
        between boxes but...we
        > venture in.
        >
        > They love the kitchen, maple trim I hand sanded with 200 grit, oak
        floors I stroked with
        > polyurethane and my splurge of red granite. Eventually I show them
        what can be seen of
        > the rest of the house. They mention that they may be interested. I
        tell them that I haven't
        > committed to a broker and I'm leaving in less than a week so if they
        are interested we
        > ought to move quickly. (Not using a broker saves tens of thousands
        of dollars!)
        >
        > Three days later we are in the shared lawyer's office. We draw up a
        contract without any
        > contingencies (very unusual in the US) as they've gotten bridge
        financing and TRUST us to
        > complete the work we've started. (Totally unusual)
        >
        > When I visit them in November they tell me again that they love the
        house. They add that it
        > never really felt that they'd bought the house as much as that I had
        drawn them to the
        > house.
        >
        > I know what had really drawn them. And I am so grateful.
        >
        > MY OWN GRATITUDE HEART IS ALL THAT MATTERS.
        >
        > [Quotes above are unofficial]
        >
      • sharani_sharani
        Dear Jody, I so sincerely enjoyed your moving story. It brought back memories (in a certain fashion) of when I bought my house at a miraculous price as if it
        Message 3 of 7 , Dec 10, 2006
        • 0 Attachment
          Dear Jody,
          I so sincerely enjoyed your moving story. It brought back memories (in a certain fashion)
          of when I bought my house at a miraculous price as if it was a gift from God on a platter. I
          have another good friend who bought a single family house when she no longer wanted to
          have a multifamily home with the headaches of being a landlord. Like you, no realtor was
          involved and the whole thing was quite a miracle story.

          Yet your tale still sounds rather overwhelming. All in all a real testament to the power of
          faith to prevail for the best. I do hope to hear more stories in future messages and hope
          that you are settling in to West Coast life filled with unexpected and delightful surprises
          that offset what must be a certain homesickness as well for what you liked best in your
          previous East Coast life.

          Sharani



          --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, jodybol <no_reply@...> wrote:
          >
          > OK Sharani, I'm accepting the challenge:
          >
          > The miracle move story:
          >
          > If you can hold your breath for more than a minute while underwater, upside down,
          doing
          > the splits and then spinning around – at the exact same time that your two trio partners
          > are at the exact same angle - and then emerge and propel your body far enough out of
          > the water to display your entire sequined swimsuit – and smile as if it were effortless –
          > then you're probably a talented synchronized swimmer. I know because my daughter,
          > Rashmi, has been committed to this Olympic sport for 6 years.
          >
          > That's what began the saga.
          >
          > 99% of the swimmers who make a national team in the US swim with one of 3 California
          > teams. We lived on the east coast. Last Easter we visited those three teams and
          identified
          > our favorite location – 40 miles east of San Francisco. Since this was a huge move with
          > ramifications for all three of us, I did seek advise. The "very good" got everything going.
          >
          > In June, I spent 2 days in Walnut Creek, a small town adjacent to Mt Diablo – a golden
          > mountain dotted with grayed oak trees, looking for a place to live. (For collectors of
          trivia –
          > one can see more territory from Mt Diablo than from any other place on earth)
          >
          > California is a very expensive place to live – even more than New York and Washington
          DC.
          > After 48 hours of intense hunting, at 10pm I made 2 offers. Like the 12 hour walk, the
          > outer activity wasn't easy but the inner work was a bear - of fighting my exhaustion,
          > panic, doubt and anxiety about doing the wrong thing and trusting that we would end
          up
          > in the "right place".
          >
          > I bought a small townhouse within walking distance of where she swims. The closing
          was
          > set for August 4 and I had no contingency for selling my house. (For those less familiar
          > with house purchases – that meant I was committed.)
          >
          > I flew back to Maryland after napping on the broker's floor for 3 hours and began the
          > process. My house looked like a New York apartment inhabited by too many boys in the
          > middle of celebrations. It needed so much work that the real estate brokers I interviewed
          > gave wildly different estimates of how much it was worth and emphasized the extent of
          > what needed to be done.
          >
          > A WASTED MOMENT IS THE VERY BEGINNING OF MY FAILURE LIFE.
          >
          > ACTION, ACTION, PREFERABLY HEART ACTION, ALL THE TIME.
          > (All CAPS are unofficial Sri Chinmoy quotes)
          >
          >
          > Those two unofficial Christmas Trip aphorisms kept going through my head – not always
          > in their constructive interpretations.
          >
          > The house turned into a Marx Brothers production. A team of girl college students
          helped
          > me sort, give away, sell, throw out and pack. What a journey emotionally as I had tossed
          > everything from Florida in a moving truck after my husband, Peter's death - and then
          > stashed most of it in the attic. The boxes began piling up –to move, to sell, to give
          away.
          > And books – hundreds of books – to the library – to the Centre – to the school, and
          clothes
          > and keep-sakes. Constant battles for simplicity and letting go – painful for a packrat
          > clutching at memories.
          >
          > Meantime I was also interviewing people to paint, plumb, fix and run electrical, put in
          > mirrors and glass, clear out the jungle in the back yard, plant, clean brick, replace rotten
          > boards (well you get the idea). And trying to get Pathik and his friends to take on some
          of
          > the tasks was like rounding up mercury. I tried recruiting with the bait of earning money
          > for college (and helping me out – since "handyman - WASP" rates are highway robbery -
          > $30 -$50 per hour)
          >
          > My favorite worker story concerns "a painter" from Peru who became my entree into the
          > Latin American network. He knew people who did all kinds of things. Spanish was
          spoken
          > more in the house than English. Works swirled in and out like mini tornadoes. Everyone
          > loved in–the-heart Alfredo.
          >
          > Periodically he braved the obstacle course to play the piano. What a gift is music. It –
          and
          > the compassion - grounded me when I was overwhelmed into tears or shrewish
          shrieking.
          > And - his wife cleaned and one of his piano students bought my piano.
          >
          > This went on for weeks and I found myself envying Suprabha for the imagined calm of
          > running around the block in New York having people bring her food.
          >
          > IF GOD THINKS I CAN, THEN DEFINITELY I CAN, I MUST DO IT, I HAVE DONE IT, MY GOD-
          > SURRENDER, UNCONDITIONAL.
          >
          > The thought of simultaneously owning two houses was enough to make my stomach
          > churn. I kept asking for guidance about which real estate broker to sign with - and kept
          > coming up with - nothing. So the house was not even listed as "for sale" and the date of
          > Two Mortgages was fast approaching.
          >
          > One day, in despair, I was talking to a friend in New Jersey about all the stuff still in the
          > house. She emphatically tells me I need to have a yard sale. I spit out that I hate them
          and
          > have neither the time, patience nor perspective to organize one. So she offers to take
          the
          > train down and run it for me - if I'll get everything in the yard.
          >
          > I hire all my college workers who essentially throw everything in the house out in the
          yard.
          > This includes 30 years of tools as big as table and band saws and drill presses and our
          > sailing gear. And my desires are like mad elephants – "That's a valuable ___, I can't give
          > that up."
          >
          > Carol began putting up "moving sale" signs and organizing in the hope that someone
          > would show up. No junkyard offered more clutter and variety. I bolted - unable to
          handle
          > $300 items sold for $15 to people who thought they were paying too much.
          >
          > One mini miracle occurred when she had the inspiration to look inside an old plaid wool
          > jacket pocket – and discovered enough money to pay for her train fare.
          >
          > An hour after the sale was scheduled to end, I return. A young couple with 2 small kids
          is
          > wandering about. They like my location at the end of the street, the Japanese maple in
          full
          > display and the shallow creek behind. They live in the neighborhood so we share stories
          of
          > why we like our family-friendly Hillmead.
          >
          > They talk about needing to enlarge their kitchen – I tell my stories of knocking down
          walls
          > to create a new kitchen. They explain that the thought of remodeling with two tots isn't
          > appealing. They ask more about the kitchen and I take a deep breath, tell them that the
          > place looks like a Katrina victim and that they'll have to navigate between boxes but...we
          > venture in.
          >
          > They love the kitchen, maple trim I hand sanded with 200 grit, oak floors I stroked with
          > polyurethane and my splurge of red granite. Eventually I show them what can be seen of
          > the rest of the house. They mention that they may be interested. I tell them that I
          haven't
          > committed to a broker and I'm leaving in less than a week so if they are interested we
          > ought to move quickly. (Not using a broker saves tens of thousands of dollars!)
          >
          > Three days later we are in the shared lawyer's office. We draw up a contract without any
          > contingencies (very unusual in the US) as they've gotten bridge financing and TRUST us
          to
          > complete the work we've started. (Totally unusual)
          >
          > When I visit them in November they tell me again that they love the house. They add
          that it
          > never really felt that they'd bought the house as much as that I had drawn them to the
          > house.
          >
          > I know what had really drawn them. And I am so grateful.
          >
          > MY OWN GRATITUDE HEART IS ALL THAT MATTERS.
          >
          > [Quotes above are unofficial]
          >
        • jodybol
          thanks Sharani for being such a great catalyst for this group. I really appreciate your regularity and continuity - two traits I admire and don t much
          Message 4 of 7 , Dec 13, 2006
          • 0 Attachment
            thanks Sharani for being such a great catalyst for this group. I really appreciate your
            regularity and continuity - two traits I admire and don't much exemplify. You've inspired
            me to be more involved - and I know that's true for others as well.

            so here's to more communications -
            I do have an image that when there are connections made between people that we
            contribute to the world oneness and add to the light - like sparks coming together to light
            a fire- so here's to creating campfires that create shared experiences.

            Some of my best memories are of that warmth and comfortable humility of sitting around
            on logs watching a fire burn - especially after a day of hiking or climbing or canoeing,
            creating s'mores and singing songs.

            ( S'mores for those of you who may not know - are made by melting marshmellows on a
            stick over the fire and then adding the hot (sometimes burned) gooey sweetness to the
            inside of a sandwich of graham crackers and a piece of chocolate (which of course melts
            with the heat)

            - --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, sharani_sharani <no_reply@...>
            wrote:
            >
            > Dear Jody,
            > I so sincerely enjoyed your moving story. It brought back memories (in a certain fashion)
            > of when I bought my house at a miraculous price as if it was a gift from God on a
            platter. I
            > have another good friend who bought a single family house when she no longer wanted
            to
            > have a multifamily home with the headaches of being a landlord. Like you, no realtor
            was
            > involved and the whole thing was quite a miracle story.
            >
            > Yet your tale still sounds rather overwhelming. All in all a real testament to the power of
            > faith to prevail for the best. I do hope to hear more stories in future messages and hope
            > that you are settling in to West Coast life filled with unexpected and delightful surprises
            > that offset what must be a certain homesickness as well for what you liked best in your
            > previous East Coast life.
            >
            > Sharani
            >
            >
            >
            > --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, jodybol <no_reply@> wrote:
            > >
            > > OK Sharani, I'm accepting the challenge:
            > >
            > > The miracle move story:
            > >
            > > If you can hold your breath for more than a minute while underwater, upside down,
            > doing
            > > the splits and then spinning around – at the exact same time that your two trio
            partners
            > > are at the exact same angle - and then emerge and propel your body far enough out
            of
            > > the water to display your entire sequined swimsuit – and smile as if it were effortless –
            > > then you're probably a talented synchronized swimmer. I know because my daughter,
            > > Rashmi, has been committed to this Olympic sport for 6 years.
            > >
            > > That's what began the saga.
            > >
            > > 99% of the swimmers who make a national team in the US swim with one of 3
            California
            > > teams. We lived on the east coast. Last Easter we visited those three teams and
            > identified
            > > our favorite location – 40 miles east of San Francisco. Since this was a huge move
            with
            > > ramifications for all three of us, I did seek advise. The "very good" got everything
            going.
            > >
            > > In June, I spent 2 days in Walnut Creek, a small town adjacent to Mt Diablo – a golden
            > > mountain dotted with grayed oak trees, looking for a place to live. (For collectors of
            > trivia –
            > > one can see more territory from Mt Diablo than from any other place on earth)
            > >
            > > California is a very expensive place to live – even more than New York and Washington
            > DC.
            > > After 48 hours of intense hunting, at 10pm I made 2 offers. Like the 12 hour walk, the
            > > outer activity wasn't easy but the inner work was a bear - of fighting my exhaustion,
            > > panic, doubt and anxiety about doing the wrong thing and trusting that we would end
            > up
            > > in the "right place".
            > >
            > > I bought a small townhouse within walking distance of where she swims. The closing
            > was
            > > set for August 4 and I had no contingency for selling my house. (For those less
            familiar
            > > with house purchases – that meant I was committed.)
            > >
            > > I flew back to Maryland after napping on the broker's floor for 3 hours and began the
            > > process. My house looked like a New York apartment inhabited by too many boys in
            the
            > > middle of celebrations. It needed so much work that the real estate brokers I
            interviewed
            > > gave wildly different estimates of how much it was worth and emphasized the extent
            of
            > > what needed to be done.
            > >
            > > A WASTED MOMENT IS THE VERY BEGINNING OF MY FAILURE LIFE.
            > >
            > > ACTION, ACTION, PREFERABLY HEART ACTION, ALL THE TIME.
            > > (All CAPS are unofficial Sri Chinmoy quotes)
            > >
            > >
            > > Those two unofficial Christmas Trip aphorisms kept going through my head – not
            always
            > > in their constructive interpretations.
            > >
            > > The house turned into a Marx Brothers production. A team of girl college students
            > helped
            > > me sort, give away, sell, throw out and pack. What a journey emotionally as I had
            tossed
            > > everything from Florida in a moving truck after my husband, Peter's death - and then
            > > stashed most of it in the attic. The boxes began piling up –to move, to sell, to give
            > away.
            > > And books – hundreds of books – to the library – to the Centre – to the school, and
            > clothes
            > > and keep-sakes. Constant battles for simplicity and letting go – painful for a packrat
            > > clutching at memories.
            > >
            > > Meantime I was also interviewing people to paint, plumb, fix and run electrical, put in
            > > mirrors and glass, clear out the jungle in the back yard, plant, clean brick, replace
            rotten
            > > boards (well you get the idea). And trying to get Pathik and his friends to take on
            some
            > of
            > > the tasks was like rounding up mercury. I tried recruiting with the bait of earning
            money
            > > for college (and helping me out – since "handyman - WASP" rates are highway robbery
            -
            > > $30 -$50 per hour)
            > >
            > > My favorite worker story concerns "a painter" from Peru who became my entree into
            the
            > > Latin American network. He knew people who did all kinds of things. Spanish was
            > spoken
            > > more in the house than English. Works swirled in and out like mini tornadoes.
            Everyone
            > > loved in–the-heart Alfredo.
            > >
            > > Periodically he braved the obstacle course to play the piano. What a gift is music. It –
            > and
            > > the compassion - grounded me when I was overwhelmed into tears or shrewish
            > shrieking.
            > > And - his wife cleaned and one of his piano students bought my piano.
            > >
            > > This went on for weeks and I found myself envying Suprabha for the imagined calm of
            > > running around the block in New York having people bring her food.
            > >
            > > IF GOD THINKS I CAN, THEN DEFINITELY I CAN, I MUST DO IT, I HAVE DONE IT, MY
            GOD-
            > > SURRENDER, UNCONDITIONAL.
            > >
            > > The thought of simultaneously owning two houses was enough to make my stomach
            > > churn. I kept asking for guidance about which real estate broker to sign with - and
            kept
            > > coming up with - nothing. So the house was not even listed as "for sale" and the date
            of
            > > Two Mortgages was fast approaching.
            > >
            > > One day, in despair, I was talking to a friend in New Jersey about all the stuff still in
            the
            > > house. She emphatically tells me I need to have a yard sale. I spit out that I hate them
            > and
            > > have neither the time, patience nor perspective to organize one. So she offers to take
            > the
            > > train down and run it for me - if I'll get everything in the yard.
            > >
            > > I hire all my college workers who essentially throw everything in the house out in the
            > yard.
            > > This includes 30 years of tools as big as table and band saws and drill presses and
            our
            > > sailing gear. And my desires are like mad elephants – "That's a valuable ___, I can't
            give
            > > that up."
            > >
            > > Carol began putting up "moving sale" signs and organizing in the hope that someone
            > > would show up. No junkyard offered more clutter and variety. I bolted - unable to
            > handle
            > > $300 items sold for $15 to people who thought they were paying too much.
            > >
            > > One mini miracle occurred when she had the inspiration to look inside an old plaid
            wool
            > > jacket pocket – and discovered enough money to pay for her train fare.
            > >
            > > An hour after the sale was scheduled to end, I return. A young couple with 2 small
            kids
            > is
            > > wandering about. They like my location at the end of the street, the Japanese maple in
            > full
            > > display and the shallow creek behind. They live in the neighborhood so we share
            stories
            > of
            > > why we like our family-friendly Hillmead.
            > >
            > > They talk about needing to enlarge their kitchen – I tell my stories of knocking down
            > walls
            > > to create a new kitchen. They explain that the thought of remodeling with two tots
            isn't
            > > appealing. They ask more about the kitchen and I take a deep breath, tell them that
            the
            > > place looks like a Katrina victim and that they'll have to navigate between boxes
            but...we
            > > venture in.
            > >
            > > They love the kitchen, maple trim I hand sanded with 200 grit, oak floors I stroked
            with
            > > polyurethane and my splurge of red granite. Eventually I show them what can be seen
            of
            > > the rest of the house. They mention that they may be interested. I tell them that I
            > haven't
            > > committed to a broker and I'm leaving in less than a week so if they are interested we
            > > ought to move quickly. (Not using a broker saves tens of thousands of dollars!)
            > >
            > > Three days later we are in the shared lawyer's office. We draw up a contract without
            any
            > > contingencies (very unusual in the US) as they've gotten bridge financing and TRUST
            us
            > to
            > > complete the work we've started. (Totally unusual)
            > >
            > > When I visit them in November they tell me again that they love the house. They add
            > that it
            > > never really felt that they'd bought the house as much as that I had drawn them to the
            > > house.
            > >
            > > I know what had really drawn them. And I am so grateful.
            > >
            > > MY OWN GRATITUDE HEART IS ALL THAT MATTERS.
            > >
            > > [Quotes above are unofficial]
            > >
            >
          • jodybol
            Kamalakanta, Love that you were inspired to write out this story. I am most appreciative. Really helps ground me in the fact that reality is indeed spiritual
            Message 5 of 7 , Dec 13, 2006
            • 0 Attachment
              Kamalakanta,
              Love that you were inspired to write out this story. I am most appreciative. Really helps
              ground me in the fact that reality is indeed spiritual and is not limited by our feeble ideas
              of what is possible and how things are "supposed to" work.

              thanks for posting.

              jody

              >
              > Jody, what a story!
              >
              > Here is a little miracle "new car" story, which I might have told
              > before and forgotten I did so!
              >
              > After joining Sri Chinmoy's Path in New York, I completed my
              > Bachelor's Degree in music theory, and moved back to Puerto Rico,
              > tired of analysing music to the point where I could not listen to
              > music without dissecting it in so many mental ways....
              >
              > My mother gave me a car, a Toyota Corona, and I moved near the beach
              > in Puerto Rico. I was young, disorganized, always in a frenzy, and had
              > no idea how to take care of a car.
              >
              > When you live next to the beach, the salt in the ocean will eat up
              > your car's paint, unless you wash it every other day and wax it well.
              > Needless to say, I was not even close.
              >
              > The car started rusting, and rusting, and rusting....to the point that
              > the license plate in the back fell off, for nothing could hold it...in
              > a few short years I ruined a car that should have lasted twenty more!
              >
              > It reached a point where I was really upset every time I got in the
              > car...I had no money to buy a new one, although a new one was
              > needed...I had been doing a mantra for money, but was not very
              > disciplined at it...once in a while it would come to my mind.
              >
              > One good day I decided to visit my brother Martin, who lived around 15
              > miles from my house. So I arrived, unannounced and uninvited, at my
              > brother's house, and started calling out his name.
              >
              > Suddenly, my mother, who lives more than ten miles from my brother's
              > house, appears in her car, and asks me to get in the car with her. We
              > drive once around the block. She stops her car and says: "I am going
              > to give you the down payment for a new car". A week later I had a new car.
              >
              > How did she know I was going there? I told no one! A little miracle
              > indeed!
              >
              > Kamalakanta
              >
              > --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, jodybol <no_reply@>
              > wrote:
              > >
              > > OK Sharani, I'm accepting the challenge:
              > >
              > > The miracle move story:
              > >
              > > If you can hold your breath for more than a minute while underwater,
              > upside down, doing
              > > the splits and then spinning around – at the exact same time that
              > your two trio partners
              > > are at the exact same angle - and then emerge and propel your body
              > far enough out of
              > > the water to display your entire sequined swimsuit – and smile as if
              > it were effortless –
              > > then you're probably a talented synchronized swimmer. I know because
              > my daughter,
              > > Rashmi, has been committed to this Olympic sport for 6 years.
              > >
              > > That's what began the saga.
              > >
              > > 99% of the swimmers who make a national team in the US swim with one
              > of 3 California
              > > teams. We lived on the east coast. Last Easter we visited those
              > three teams and identified
              > > our favorite location – 40 miles east of San Francisco. Since this
              > was a huge move with
              > > ramifications for all three of us, I did seek advise. The "very
              > good" got everything going.
              > >
              > > In June, I spent 2 days in Walnut Creek, a small town adjacent to Mt
              > Diablo – a golden
              > > mountain dotted with grayed oak trees, looking for a place to live.
              > (For collectors of trivia –
              > > one can see more territory from Mt Diablo than from any other place
              > on earth)
              > >
              > > California is a very expensive place to live – even more than New
              > York and Washington DC.
              > > After 48 hours of intense hunting, at 10pm I made 2 offers. Like the
              > 12 hour walk, the
              > > outer activity wasn't easy but the inner work was a bear - of
              > fighting my exhaustion,
              > > panic, doubt and anxiety about doing the wrong thing and trusting
              > that we would end up
              > > in the "right place".
              > >
              > > I bought a small townhouse within walking distance of where she
              > swims. The closing was
              > > set for August 4 and I had no contingency for selling my house. (For
              > those less familiar
              > > with house purchases – that meant I was committed.)
              > >
              > > I flew back to Maryland after napping on the broker's floor for 3
              > hours and began the
              > > process. My house looked like a New York apartment inhabited by too
              > many boys in the
              > > middle of celebrations. It needed so much work that the real estate
              > brokers I interviewed
              > > gave wildly different estimates of how much it was worth and
              > emphasized the extent of
              > > what needed to be done.
              > >
              > > A WASTED MOMENT IS THE VERY BEGINNING OF MY FAILURE LIFE.
              > >
              > > ACTION, ACTION, PREFERABLY HEART ACTION, ALL THE TIME.
              > > (All CAPS are unofficial Sri Chinmoy quotes)
              > >
              > >
              > > Those two unofficial Christmas Trip aphorisms kept going through my
              > head – not always
              > > in their constructive interpretations.
              > >
              > > The house turned into a Marx Brothers production. A team of girl
              > college students helped
              > > me sort, give away, sell, throw out and pack. What a journey
              > emotionally as I had tossed
              > > everything from Florida in a moving truck after my husband, Peter's
              > death - and then
              > > stashed most of it in the attic. The boxes began piling up –to move,
              > to sell, to give away.
              > > And books – hundreds of books – to the library – to the Centre – to
              > the school, and clothes
              > > and keep-sakes. Constant battles for simplicity and letting go –
              > painful for a packrat
              > > clutching at memories.
              > >
              > > Meantime I was also interviewing people to paint, plumb, fix and run
              > electrical, put in
              > > mirrors and glass, clear out the jungle in the back yard, plant,
              > clean brick, replace rotten
              > > boards (well you get the idea). And trying to get Pathik and his
              > friends to take on some of
              > > the tasks was like rounding up mercury. I tried recruiting with the
              > bait of earning money
              > > for college (and helping me out – since "handyman - WASP" rates are
              > highway robbery -
              > > $30 -$50 per hour)
              > >
              > > My favorite worker story concerns "a painter" from Peru who became
              > my entree into the
              > > Latin American network. He knew people who did all kinds of things.
              > Spanish was spoken
              > > more in the house than English. Works swirled in and out like mini
              > tornadoes. Everyone
              > > loved in–the-heart Alfredo.
              > >
              > > Periodically he braved the obstacle course to play the piano. What a
              > gift is music. It – and
              > > the compassion - grounded me when I was overwhelmed into tears or
              > shrewish shrieking.
              > > And - his wife cleaned and one of his piano students bought my piano.
              > >
              > > This went on for weeks and I found myself envying Suprabha for the
              > imagined calm of
              > > running around the block in New York having people bring her food.
              > >
              > > IF GOD THINKS I CAN, THEN DEFINITELY I CAN, I MUST DO IT, I HAVE
              > DONE IT, MY GOD-
              > > SURRENDER, UNCONDITIONAL.
              > >
              > > The thought of simultaneously owning two houses was enough to make
              > my stomach
              > > churn. I kept asking for guidance about which real estate broker to
              > sign with - and kept
              > > coming up with - nothing. So the house was not even listed as "for
              > sale" and the date of
              > > Two Mortgages was fast approaching.
              > >
              > > One day, in despair, I was talking to a friend in New Jersey about
              > all the stuff still in the
              > > house. She emphatically tells me I need to have a yard sale. I spit
              > out that I hate them and
              > > have neither the time, patience nor perspective to organize one. So
              > she offers to take the
              > > train down and run it for me - if I'll get everything in the yard.
              > >
              > > I hire all my college workers who essentially throw everything in
              > the house out in the yard.
              > > This includes 30 years of tools as big as table and band saws and
              > drill presses and our
              > > sailing gear. And my desires are like mad elephants – "That's a
              > valuable ___, I can't give
              > > that up."
              > >
              > > Carol began putting up "moving sale" signs and organizing in the
              > hope that someone
              > > would show up. No junkyard offered more clutter and variety. I
              > bolted - unable to handle
              > > $300 items sold for $15 to people who thought they were paying too much.
              > >
              > > One mini miracle occurred when she had the inspiration to look
              > inside an old plaid wool
              > > jacket pocket – and discovered enough money to pay for her train fare.
              > >
              > > An hour after the sale was scheduled to end, I return. A young
              > couple with 2 small kids is
              > > wandering about. They like my location at the end of the street, the
              > Japanese maple in full
              > > display and the shallow creek behind. They live in the neighborhood
              > so we share stories of
              > > why we like our family-friendly Hillmead.
              > >
              > > They talk about needing to enlarge their kitchen – I tell my stories
              > of knocking down walls
              > > to create a new kitchen. They explain that the thought of remodeling
              > with two tots isn't
              > > appealing. They ask more about the kitchen and I take a deep breath,
              > tell them that the
              > > place looks like a Katrina victim and that they'll have to navigate
              > between boxes but...we
              > > venture in.
              > >
              > > They love the kitchen, maple trim I hand sanded with 200 grit, oak
              > floors I stroked with
              > > polyurethane and my splurge of red granite. Eventually I show them
              > what can be seen of
              > > the rest of the house. They mention that they may be interested. I
              > tell them that I haven't
              > > committed to a broker and I'm leaving in less than a week so if they
              > are interested we
              > > ought to move quickly. (Not using a broker saves tens of thousands
              > of dollars!)
              > >
              > > Three days later we are in the shared lawyer's office. We draw up a
              > contract without any
              > > contingencies (very unusual in the US) as they've gotten bridge
              > financing and TRUST us to
              > > complete the work we've started. (Totally unusual)
              > >
              > > When I visit them in November they tell me again that they love the
              > house. They add that it
              > > never really felt that they'd bought the house as much as that I had
              > drawn them to the
              > > house.
              > >
              > > I know what had really drawn them. And I am so grateful.
              > >
              > > MY OWN GRATITUDE HEART IS ALL THAT MATTERS.
              > >
              > > [Quotes above are unofficial]
              > >
              >
            • sarah_inseattle
              Hey Jody! I loved reading this story, and I had even already heard most of it! You tell it so well. The emotional journey of getting rid of stuff
              Message 6 of 7 , Dec 14, 2006
              • 0 Attachment
                Hey Jody!

                I loved reading this story, and I had even already heard most of
                it! You tell it so well.

                The emotional journey of getting rid of "stuff" particularly struck
                me on this re-telling. The sentimental values, guilty feelings, the
                struggles with monetary values--- related to material objects! It is
                a real challenge for me. I so dearly want a simple pure, neat home,
                and I can't bear to give such power to inanimate objects.

                It is anxiety that makes it hard for me to make these decisions.
                When the anxiety is too strong, I delay making a decision to avoid
                the anxiety. Which means, by default, I keep whatever it is.

                This is probably a metaphor for my inner life, as well. As you say,
                it is all about trusting and letting go.

                I hear your deep gratitude. Do you also feel wonderfully free now?

                Love,
                Sarah

                --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, jodybol
                <no_reply@...> wrote:
                >
                > OK Sharani, I'm accepting the challenge:
                >
                > The miracle move story:
                >
                > If you can hold your breath for more than a minute while
                underwater, upside down, doing
                > the splits and then spinning around – at the exact same time that
                your two trio partners
                > are at the exact same angle - and then emerge and propel your body
                far enough out of
                > the water to display your entire sequined swimsuit – and smile as
                if it were effortless –
                > then you're probably a talented synchronized swimmer. I know
                because my daughter,
                > Rashmi, has been committed to this Olympic sport for 6 years.
                >
                > That's what began the saga.
                >
                > 99% of the swimmers who make a national team in the US swim with
                one of 3 California
                > teams. We lived on the east coast. Last Easter we visited those
                three teams and identified
                > our favorite location – 40 miles east of San Francisco. Since
                this was a huge move with
                > ramifications for all three of us, I did seek advise. The "very
                good" got everything going.
                >
                > In June, I spent 2 days in Walnut Creek, a small town adjacent to
                Mt Diablo – a golden
                > mountain dotted with grayed oak trees, looking for a place to
                live. (For collectors of trivia –
                > one can see more territory from Mt Diablo than from any other
                place on earth)
                >
                > California is a very expensive place to live – even more than New
                York and Washington DC.
                > After 48 hours of intense hunting, at 10pm I made 2 offers. Like
                the 12 hour walk, the
                > outer activity wasn't easy but the inner work was a bear - of
                fighting my exhaustion,
                > panic, doubt and anxiety about doing the wrong thing and trusting
                that we would end up
                > in the "right place".
                >
                > I bought a small townhouse within walking distance of where she
                swims. The closing was
                > set for August 4 and I had no contingency for selling my house.
                (For those less familiar
                > with house purchases – that meant I was committed.)
                >
                > I flew back to Maryland after napping on the broker's floor for 3
                hours and began the
                > process. My house looked like a New York apartment inhabited by
                too many boys in the
                > middle of celebrations. It needed so much work that the real
                estate brokers I interviewed
                > gave wildly different estimates of how much it was worth and
                emphasized the extent of
                > what needed to be done.
                >
                > A WASTED MOMENT IS THE VERY BEGINNING OF MY FAILURE LIFE.
                >
                > ACTION, ACTION, PREFERABLY HEART ACTION, ALL THE TIME.
                > (All CAPS are unofficial Sri Chinmoy quotes)
                >
                >
                > Those two unofficial Christmas Trip aphorisms kept going through
                my head – not always
                > in their constructive interpretations.
                >
                > The house turned into a Marx Brothers production. A team of girl
                college students helped
                > me sort, give away, sell, throw out and pack. What a journey
                emotionally as I had tossed
                > everything from Florida in a moving truck after my husband,
                Peter's death - and then
                > stashed most of it in the attic. The boxes began piling up –to
                move, to sell, to give away.
                > And books – hundreds of books – to the library – to the Centre –
                to the school, and clothes
                > and keep-sakes. Constant battles for simplicity and letting go –
                painful for a packrat
                > clutching at memories.
                >
                > Meantime I was also interviewing people to paint, plumb, fix and
                run electrical, put in
                > mirrors and glass, clear out the jungle in the back yard, plant,
                clean brick, replace rotten
                > boards (well you get the idea). And trying to get Pathik and his
                friends to take on some of
                > the tasks was like rounding up mercury. I tried recruiting with
                the bait of earning money
                > for college (and helping me out – since "handyman - WASP" rates
                are highway robbery -
                > $30 -$50 per hour)
                >
                > My favorite worker story concerns "a painter" from Peru who became
                my entree into the
                > Latin American network. He knew people who did all kinds of
                things. Spanish was spoken
                > more in the house than English. Works swirled in and out like mini
                tornadoes. Everyone
                > loved in–the-heart Alfredo.
                >
                > Periodically he braved the obstacle course to play the piano. What
                a gift is music. It – and
                > the compassion - grounded me when I was overwhelmed into tears or
                shrewish shrieking.
                > And - his wife cleaned and one of his piano students bought my
                piano.
                >
                > This went on for weeks and I found myself envying Suprabha for the
                imagined calm of
                > running around the block in New York having people bring her food.
                >
                > IF GOD THINKS I CAN, THEN DEFINITELY I CAN, I MUST DO IT, I HAVE
                DONE IT, MY GOD-
                > SURRENDER, UNCONDITIONAL.
                >
                > The thought of simultaneously owning two houses was enough to make
                my stomach
                > churn. I kept asking for guidance about which real estate broker
                to sign with - and kept
                > coming up with - nothing. So the house was not even listed as "for
                sale" and the date of
                > Two Mortgages was fast approaching.
                >
                > One day, in despair, I was talking to a friend in New Jersey about
                all the stuff still in the
                > house. She emphatically tells me I need to have a yard sale. I
                spit out that I hate them and
                > have neither the time, patience nor perspective to organize one.
                So she offers to take the
                > train down and run it for me - if I'll get everything in the yard.
                >
                > I hire all my college workers who essentially throw everything in
                the house out in the yard.
                > This includes 30 years of tools as big as table and band saws and
                drill presses and our
                > sailing gear. And my desires are like mad elephants – "That's a
                valuable ___, I can't give
                > that up."
                >
                > Carol began putting up "moving sale" signs and organizing in the
                hope that someone
                > would show up. No junkyard offered more clutter and variety. I
                bolted - unable to handle
                > $300 items sold for $15 to people who thought they were paying too
                much.
                >
                > One mini miracle occurred when she had the inspiration to look
                inside an old plaid wool
                > jacket pocket – and discovered enough money to pay for her train
                fare.
                >
                > An hour after the sale was scheduled to end, I return. A young
                couple with 2 small kids is
                > wandering about. They like my location at the end of the street,
                the Japanese maple in full
                > display and the shallow creek behind. They live in the
                neighborhood so we share stories of
                > why we like our family-friendly Hillmead.
                >
                > They talk about needing to enlarge their kitchen – I tell my
                stories of knocking down walls
                > to create a new kitchen. They explain that the thought of
                remodeling with two tots isn't
                > appealing. They ask more about the kitchen and I take a deep
                breath, tell them that the
                > place looks like a Katrina victim and that they'll have to
                navigate between boxes but...we
                > venture in.
                >
                > They love the kitchen, maple trim I hand sanded with 200 grit, oak
                floors I stroked with
                > polyurethane and my splurge of red granite. Eventually I show them
                what can be seen of
                > the rest of the house. They mention that they may be interested. I
                tell them that I haven't
                > committed to a broker and I'm leaving in less than a week so if
                they are interested we
                > ought to move quickly. (Not using a broker saves tens of thousands
                of dollars!)
                >
                > Three days later we are in the shared lawyer's office. We draw up
                a contract without any
                > contingencies (very unusual in the US) as they've gotten bridge
                financing and TRUST us to
                > complete the work we've started. (Totally unusual)
                >
                > When I visit them in November they tell me again that they love
                the house. They add that it
                > never really felt that they'd bought the house as much as that I
                had drawn them to the
                > house.
                >
                > I know what had really drawn them. And I am so grateful.
                >
                > MY OWN GRATITUDE HEART IS ALL THAT MATTERS.
                >
                > [Quotes above are unofficial]
                >
              • sharani_sharani
                Hi Jody, Have you ever been to WaterFire in Providence? If you like sitting by a fire, you would love WaterFire. Bonfires are lit at night in braziers located
                Message 7 of 7 , Dec 16, 2006
                • 0 Attachment
                  Hi Jody,
                  Have you ever been to WaterFire in Providence? If you like sitting by
                  a fire, you would love WaterFire. Bonfires are lit at night in
                  braziers located just above the surface of the water in various canals
                  downtown and music is piped into the open air around the areas where
                  the bonfires are lit. The music features lots of operatic as well as
                  world music. One can pay to ride in a gondola or other type of boat.
                  Thousands of people stroll along the water's edge or sit mesmerized by
                  the flames. I have a few photos from it in my gallery album at:
                  http://tinyurl.com/d4pak

                  You can also see about it at the WaterFire official website:
                  http://www.waterfire.org/main.html

                  As for hiking, where did you used to go camping? When I was growing
                  up, I had the good fortune of vacationing with my family most every
                  summer to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado - endless hiking, horseback
                  riding, daycamp activities, etc. The sight of a mountain meadow of
                  flowers at the base of a snow-capped peak still enchants me although
                  nowadays I see such a sight rarely.

                  Sharani
                  p.s. as for regularity, some might wonder if I've taken tips from
                  mules and bulldogs and secretly wish that I would be a little less
                  tenacious. :-)

                  --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, jodybol <no_reply@...>
                  wrote:
                  >
                  > thanks Sharani for being such a great catalyst for this group. I
                  really appreciate your
                  > regularity and continuity - two traits I admire and don't much
                  exemplify. You've inspired
                  > me to be more involved - and I know that's true for others as well.
                  >
                  > so here's to more communications -
                  > I do have an image that when there are connections made between
                  people that we
                  > contribute to the world oneness and add to the light - like sparks
                  coming together to light
                  > a fire- so here's to creating campfires that create shared experiences.
                  >
                  > Some of my best memories are of that warmth and comfortable humility
                  of sitting around
                  > on logs watching a fire burn - especially after a day of hiking or
                  climbing or canoeing,
                  > creating s'mores and singing songs.
                  >
                  > ( S'mores for those of you who may not know - are made by melting
                  marshmellows on a
                  > stick over the fire and then adding the hot (sometimes burned) gooey
                  sweetness to the
                  > inside of a sandwich of graham crackers and a piece of chocolate
                  (which of course melts
                  > with the heat)
                  >
                  > - --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, sharani_sharani
                  <no_reply@>
                  > wrote:
                  > >
                  > > Dear Jody,
                  > > I so sincerely enjoyed your moving story. It brought back memories
                  (in a certain fashion)
                  > > of when I bought my house at a miraculous price as if it was a
                  gift from God on a
                  > platter. I
                  > > have another good friend who bought a single family house when she
                  no longer wanted
                  > to
                  > > have a multifamily home with the headaches of being a landlord.
                  Like you, no realtor
                  > was
                  > > involved and the whole thing was quite a miracle story.
                  > >
                  > > Yet your tale still sounds rather overwhelming. All in all a real
                  testament to the power of
                  > > faith to prevail for the best. I do hope to hear more stories in
                  future messages and hope
                  > > that you are settling in to West Coast life filled with unexpected
                  and delightful surprises
                  > > that offset what must be a certain homesickness as well for what
                  you liked best in your
                  > > previous East Coast life.
                  > >
                  > > Sharani
                  > >
                  > >
                  > >
                  > > --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, jodybol
                  <no_reply@> wrote:
                  > > >
                  > > > OK Sharani, I'm accepting the challenge:
                  > > >
                  > > > The miracle move story:
                  > > >
                  > > > If you can hold your breath for more than a minute while
                  underwater, upside down,
                  > > doing
                  > > > the splits and then spinning around – at the exact same time
                  that your two trio
                  > partners
                  > > > are at the exact same angle - and then emerge and propel your
                  body far enough out
                  > of
                  > > > the water to display your entire sequined swimsuit – and smile
                  as if it were effortless –
                  > > > then you're probably a talented synchronized swimmer. I know
                  because my daughter,
                  > > > Rashmi, has been committed to this Olympic sport for 6 years.
                  > > >
                  > > > That's what began the saga.
                  > > >
                  > > > 99% of the swimmers who make a national team in the US swim with
                  one of 3
                  > California
                  > > > teams. We lived on the east coast. Last Easter we visited those
                  three teams and
                  > > identified
                  > > > our favorite location – 40 miles east of San Francisco. Since
                  this was a huge move
                  > with
                  > > > ramifications for all three of us, I did seek advise. The "very
                  good" got everything
                  > going.
                  > > >
                  > > > In June, I spent 2 days in Walnut Creek, a small town adjacent
                  to Mt Diablo – a golden
                  > > > mountain dotted with grayed oak trees, looking for a place to
                  live. (For collectors of
                  > > trivia –
                  > > > one can see more territory from Mt Diablo than from any other
                  place on earth)
                  > > >
                  > > > California is a very expensive place to live – even more than
                  New York and Washington
                  > > DC.
                  > > > After 48 hours of intense hunting, at 10pm I made 2 offers. Like
                  the 12 hour walk, the
                  > > > outer activity wasn't easy but the inner work was a bear - of
                  fighting my exhaustion,
                  > > > panic, doubt and anxiety about doing the wrong thing and
                  trusting that we would end
                  > > up
                  > > > in the "right place".
                  > > >
                  > > > I bought a small townhouse within walking distance of where she
                  swims. The closing
                  > > was
                  > > > set for August 4 and I had no contingency for selling my house.
                  (For those less
                  > familiar
                  > > > with house purchases – that meant I was committed.)
                  > > >
                  > > > I flew back to Maryland after napping on the broker's floor for
                  3 hours and began the
                  > > > process. My house looked like a New York apartment inhabited by
                  too many boys in
                  > the
                  > > > middle of celebrations. It needed so much work that the real
                  estate brokers I
                  > interviewed
                  > > > gave wildly different estimates of how much it was worth and
                  emphasized the extent
                  > of
                  > > > what needed to be done.
                  > > >
                  > > > A WASTED MOMENT IS THE VERY BEGINNING OF MY FAILURE LIFE.
                  > > >
                  > > > ACTION, ACTION, PREFERABLY HEART ACTION, ALL THE TIME.
                  > > > (All CAPS are unofficial Sri Chinmoy quotes)
                  > > >
                  > > >
                  > > > Those two unofficial Christmas Trip aphorisms kept going through
                  my head – not
                  > always
                  > > > in their constructive interpretations.
                  > > >
                  > > > The house turned into a Marx Brothers production. A team of girl
                  college students
                  > > helped
                  > > > me sort, give away, sell, throw out and pack. What a journey
                  emotionally as I had
                  > tossed
                  > > > everything from Florida in a moving truck after my husband,
                  Peter's death - and then
                  > > > stashed most of it in the attic. The boxes began piling up –to
                  move, to sell, to give
                  > > away.
                  > > > And books – hundreds of books – to the library – to the Centre –
                  to the school, and
                  > > clothes
                  > > > and keep-sakes. Constant battles for simplicity and letting go –
                  painful for a packrat
                  > > > clutching at memories.
                  > > >
                  > > > Meantime I was also interviewing people to paint, plumb, fix and
                  run electrical, put in
                  > > > mirrors and glass, clear out the jungle in the back yard, plant,
                  clean brick, replace
                  > rotten
                  > > > boards (well you get the idea). And trying to get Pathik and his
                  friends to take on
                  > some
                  > > of
                  > > > the tasks was like rounding up mercury. I tried recruiting with
                  the bait of earning
                  > money
                  > > > for college (and helping me out – since "handyman - WASP" rates
                  are highway robbery
                  > -
                  > > > $30 -$50 per hour)
                  > > >
                  > > > My favorite worker story concerns "a painter" from Peru who
                  became my entree into
                  > the
                  > > > Latin American network. He knew people who did all kinds of
                  things. Spanish was
                  > > spoken
                  > > > more in the house than English. Works swirled in and out like
                  mini tornadoes.
                  > Everyone
                  > > > loved in–the-heart Alfredo.
                  > > >
                  > > > Periodically he braved the obstacle course to play the piano.
                  What a gift is music. It –
                  > > and
                  > > > the compassion - grounded me when I was overwhelmed into tears
                  or shrewish
                  > > shrieking.
                  > > > And - his wife cleaned and one of his piano students bought my
                  piano.
                  > > >
                  > > > This went on for weeks and I found myself envying Suprabha for
                  the imagined calm of
                  > > > running around the block in New York having people bring her food.
                  > > >
                  > > > IF GOD THINKS I CAN, THEN DEFINITELY I CAN, I MUST DO IT, I HAVE
                  DONE IT, MY
                  > GOD-
                  > > > SURRENDER, UNCONDITIONAL.
                  > > >
                  > > > The thought of simultaneously owning two houses was enough to
                  make my stomach
                  > > > churn. I kept asking for guidance about which real estate
                  broker to sign with - and
                  > kept
                  > > > coming up with - nothing. So the house was not even listed as
                  "for sale" and the date
                  > of
                  > > > Two Mortgages was fast approaching.
                  > > >
                  > > > One day, in despair, I was talking to a friend in New Jersey
                  about all the stuff still in
                  > the
                  > > > house. She emphatically tells me I need to have a yard sale. I
                  spit out that I hate them
                  > > and
                  > > > have neither the time, patience nor perspective to organize one.
                  So she offers to take
                  > > the
                  > > > train down and run it for me - if I'll get everything in the yard.
                  > > >
                  > > > I hire all my college workers who essentially throw everything
                  in the house out in the
                  > > yard.
                  > > > This includes 30 years of tools as big as table and band saws
                  and drill presses and
                  > our
                  > > > sailing gear. And my desires are like mad elephants – "That's a
                  valuable ___, I can't
                  > give
                  > > > that up."
                  > > >
                  > > > Carol began putting up "moving sale" signs and organizing in the
                  hope that someone
                  > > > would show up. No junkyard offered more clutter and variety. I
                  bolted - unable to
                  > > handle
                  > > > $300 items sold for $15 to people who thought they were paying
                  too much.
                  > > >
                  > > > One mini miracle occurred when she had the inspiration to look
                  inside an old plaid
                  > wool
                  > > > jacket pocket – and discovered enough money to pay for her train
                  fare.
                  > > >
                  > > > An hour after the sale was scheduled to end, I return. A young
                  couple with 2 small
                  > kids
                  > > is
                  > > > wandering about. They like my location at the end of the street,
                  the Japanese maple in
                  > > full
                  > > > display and the shallow creek behind. They live in the
                  neighborhood so we share
                  > stories
                  > > of
                  > > > why we like our family-friendly Hillmead.
                  > > >
                  > > > They talk about needing to enlarge their kitchen – I tell my
                  stories of knocking down
                  > > walls
                  > > > to create a new kitchen. They explain that the thought of
                  remodeling with two tots
                  > isn't
                  > > > appealing. They ask more about the kitchen and I take a deep
                  breath, tell them that
                  > the
                  > > > place looks like a Katrina victim and that they'll have to
                  navigate between boxes
                  > but...we
                  > > > venture in.
                  > > >
                  > > > They love the kitchen, maple trim I hand sanded with 200 grit,
                  oak floors I stroked
                  > with
                  > > > polyurethane and my splurge of red granite. Eventually I show
                  them what can be seen
                  > of
                  > > > the rest of the house. They mention that they may be interested.
                  I tell them that I
                  > > haven't
                  > > > committed to a broker and I'm leaving in less than a week so if
                  they are interested we
                  > > > ought to move quickly. (Not using a broker saves tens of
                  thousands of dollars!)
                  > > >
                  > > > Three days later we are in the shared lawyer's office. We draw
                  up a contract without
                  > any
                  > > > contingencies (very unusual in the US) as they've gotten bridge
                  financing and TRUST
                  > us
                  > > to
                  > > > complete the work we've started. (Totally unusual)
                  > > >
                  > > > When I visit them in November they tell me again that they love
                  the house. They add
                  > > that it
                  > > > never really felt that they'd bought the house as much as that I
                  had drawn them to the
                  > > > house.
                  > > >
                  > > > I know what had really drawn them. And I am so grateful.
                  > > >
                  > > > MY OWN GRATITUDE HEART IS ALL THAT MATTERS.
                  > > >
                  > > > [Quotes above are unofficial]
                  > > >
                  > >
                  >
                Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.