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catalyst

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  • 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 1 of 7 , Dec 13, 2006
      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 2 of 7 , Dec 13, 2006
        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 3 of 7 , Dec 14, 2006
          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 4 of 7 , Dec 16, 2006
            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]
            > > >
            > >
            >
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