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It was 7:20 A.M., and again an engaging dream wanted my recall—most unusual because long weeks have passed with no dream stories that glimpse the milieu of my psyche, no cues that still needed work for my transition. This morning’s glimpse goes like this:

I’ve traveled to the Southwest for the weekend gathering of artists, their handcrafted ware displayed beneath tents in a grassy meadow. Adjacent to this area are classes offered in the crafting of the displayed articles: weaving, pottery, cooking, leather working, jewelry, especially turquoise, drawing and painting. I join the hundreds moving slowly among the exhibits. I’m itching to try something new and find myself welcomed by the weaver, a Native American with strong knowing hands. The final evening, she informs the students which of their works they can take with them.

In my perception, the Southwest represents a centuries-old world of warmth, intimate with nature: like an incubator, it served its primitive people with rich imaginations who storied their gods, then etched them upon cave and rock drawings. Such icons still breathe fierceness. There’s much to learn here.

The seasoned artists at this gathering who have mastered their craft, suggest submersion into the waters of Life. To express their passion, they’ve overcame obstacles, endured ridicule, and scrimped and saved to support themselves. Their hand-crafted ware triggers potential artists to do similarly. And because of this self-imposed discipline, they’re willing to teach others.

The weaver, a Native American with strong knowing hands, suggests God in disguise, a critical life teacher who will help me weave together the final version of my odds and ends, still to be incorporated into the Elizabeth of my birthright.

I’m a work in progress …

“Please open wide,” he said in soothing tones. Goggled, bibbbed, and slightly tilted backwards upon his dental chair, I closed my eyes and prayed, “God’s care,” with each breath. Bit by bit, I felt my body relax, my spirit welcoming God’s hands replacing the filling from my molar that had fallen out. With Jessica’s assistance, the hole was soon filled. A simple procedure, yes, but one that I had dreaded, given my weakness and shortness of breath and coughing spells.

Indeed, I did experience God’s care tending my damaged tooth, yesterday, and for twenty years, his specialty in biological dentistry that informs his practice; it has kept me well with dental products compatible to my bio-chemical make-up—No metals of any kind in my mouth.   

When it was time to part, his eyes smiling, he placed his large hand upon mine and said, “I wish you well.” In that moment, our spirits co-mingled within deep joy, evidence of His healing touch.

His name is Dr. G. Michael Rehme, DDS, located in Town and Country, Missouri. His son Michael, a dentistry practitioner, has recently joined the practice.

The simplicity of this photo touches me: three pears, one attached to its leafy branch, one sitting on its bottom, and one sliced open, revealing its seeds and the creamy white of its fruit. Next to it lays the wood-handled knife on a plank table. A close look at the photo’s composition reveals its artistry and significance.

Featured within are four items, the number for wholeness, for balance that frames the viewer’s experience—a grounding that compels its evolution, accompanied by warm inner stirrings.

Next comes the selection of color: the yellows, dull and limish; the browns, dark and rustic; the greens, pointed and jaded; and the whites, luminous and milky. Subtle shadows set off the pears and spark desire to touch their coarse skins, to experience their sweetness.

Their stems resemble cut umbilical cords, its fruits, now on their own.  

Sharp angles contrast with roundness for added drama. The worn appearance of the knife and table suggest seasoned hands that know foods, their preparation, and presentation.

So much for my impressions of this photo.

It also speaks to my present circumstances. The first pear suggests my having been cut off from the tree of health; the second, my ripening; and the third, the cutting/transition and full revelation of my sweetness.

For the present, my ripening morphs into simplicity and I’m grateful…

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