I hope my message didn't sound too curt, Leslie (That used to be my sister's name:
she was called Les a lot, and changed it: now she's Mor- gan )

:-)


Sad to hear the pain of your father's absence, and then to see that Harpo was an absent father himself. Yes, the cycles of suffering continue...endlessly,until there is real awareness born of being 'in' the world but not 'of' it. Recognition and determination that "the buck stops here". That's a hard one, since en route many get lost in the heady realms of 'remove' and/or become convinced of their absolute liberation, when that (piece of it) too is just a station on the way.

All the stories that paint her father in colours of (mostly abundance and) light must be hard for Tina in some ways. I'm glad to hear more of what life was like for her. I *appreciate* all the facets. What would the gem be without them-- inclusions and all?

I can't believe I'm talking about you all as if I know you... that's the power of the Word.

I'm well, thanks. Mostly feeling blessed, a few sorrows, sometimes up and down, like you...My own father was more the other extreme...somewhat invasive, creative and sometimes pretty sad and morose. (hard for a kid to see) Maybe not surprisingly I am quite reclusive, independant,idealistic, -- but when I do engage I engage deeply. Also, I feel quite connected to others etherically.


Here's the best inner portrait I can come with of "this one" (me),to give you some sense of who you are talking to.

There's a far side cartoon with a woman opening one of those old fridges that look like an oldsmobile -I'm dating myself- Tears are fairly springing from her eyes, as she removes one of those equally old metal ice cube trays, and lifts the handle, separating the whole...

She says "Oh dear God, perfect ice cubes again!!"

It's my all time favorite cartoon, and sums me up pretty well. Or rather, my views.
I believe in the truth of miracles, and that they are simple, not something way out there. The miracles are in the small. The small are in the Great (under the shimmering umbrella of the dome of heaven, so to speak. >> The heights where you hear bells that sound like they are made of crystal beyond seeing)

We forget where we are.

These Harpo tales have quite touched me, as has getting a sense of the constellation of those around him. They too are just as much the story. Maybe one thing that grips and inspires me is a reflection of some of my own interests..the food and feeding aspect really resonates. I always want to share more with others, and to do that in a way that doesn't drain me. And that isn't a construction or reconstruction of some sense of lack. (Might be a legacy of the invasive father: being concerned about caring for others, and trying to balalnce a sense of excess.)

Some of my happiest times have been around preparing and sharing food with others. At fifteen I worked in a Sri Chinmoy-focussed restaurant..and ended up donating my wages to support the group. I was happy to do so and always felt good! It was wonderful the way everything would stop-- for meditation. There'd be all this busyness, and then -- nothing. Then the kitchen would fill up with silence and the hum of Om...I couldn't see it coming from anyone's mouth. It seemed to come from the very heart of the planet.

Then, years later, when my son was older, I was the chef at a meditation retreat centre. I loved that job. Same minimal wages, but silence ans space-- and devotion. The land had enjoyed many blessings. It was hard work--doing all the shopping, driving a difficult truck to a city nearby... doing all of it. But I loved it, and the way I approached it all was just to ask (God) "is this enough? Is this right? Is this perfect?"

It was always just right...becuase it was offered up, before being served.


so, you all who knew Harpo and are now relecting back your own light--you've all have quite inspired me...I appreciate the way you've laid open your hearts in writing about the man Harpo. As well as the Spirit.

thanks,

Chiron

Alison