Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

 The street we walked on housed several hippie stores I could not wait to explore. I was only twelve, and was in no hurry to grow up. When my friends were into lipstick and boys, I just hungered for books and posters with peace signs, flowers, and rainbows, all in vivid day-glow.   I excused myself from my parents for an hour, and headed straight for the book store, a two story affair. Let loose, I was ecstatic!  Skipping every other step on the pine stairs, I got to the second floor, and looked around for the first book that caught my hazel eyes.. I found a window seat with the sun bouncing off of the bay, and straight on the page of the book I  chose to read.  . A how- to metaphysical book that surely would  influence my future choices in books, and in my thinking styles as well.

Jealousy, that dragon which slays love under the  pretense of keeping it alive.     ~ Havelock Ellis

The idea of karma is that you continually get the teachings that you need in order to open your heart. To the degree that you didn’t understand in the past how to stop protecting your soft spot, how to stop armoring your heart, you’re given this gift of teachings in the form of your life, to give you everything you need to learn how to open further.

 When a beloved dies, they are just hiding in paradise.  They are MORE PRESENT in our lives than when they were alive.  In this case, I am thinking of my dear father  who departed in April of 2014.  I hear my dad  reminding me  to take the garbage out, and buy new shoes.  He laughs with  me when the day's challenges leave me on my head.  He gazes at  me in bodily form.  Those who pass away have gymnastic skills surpassing any Olympic star. They can ricochet through walls and doors, jump off of  buildings--- flying higher than any bird. They are not supermen or superwomen  They are simply magical, and convey their magic to us when we stop long enough to listen,   to watch,..... and to believe. Yes, I do believe in magic!

   how heroes know there is never any fear in trusting the pulse of one's own blood- coursing like a race horse unconcerned about finishing first-- but simply to finish the paradisial concourse unscathed--- more than ready to disperse shadows into the almighty blue sea to allow the widening of light swaths to paint golden orange flowers on the outskirts of one's cerebrum--meandering into a cha cha by the almighty blue sea kjl '19

thin gray fog obscures the reliable rising sun; choices mask "no need to choose" joy sweeps us up into a farmhouse waltz barn wood walls ring, and do sing the very melody that became stuck  on the roof of our mouths -- resounding in the cupola ceiling crystal beads growing brighter as the million eyes readjust to the dark, to the blatant incision of trust-- carved on wax, ice, yellow pine, rust no time or interest in stoking the fire: friends come, hang out, and disappear it's the time of year  to be clear with how we spend our free time our investments in our friends never end because the other is weathering an inner storm-- no balances need be drawn the drawing room is saved for spontaneous guests as rocking chairs glide past the  wrap around porch, take wing, do reach the furthest chagallian star left for the dreamers-- whose capillaries course clearly-- a filigreed communication with room for spaces, . the holy breath th...

 The purpose of nirvanic moments of mindfulness is to create an ethical space from which to see, think, speak, act, and work in ways that are not conditioned by reactivity. ~ Stephen Batchelor, from 'A Buddhist Brexit' photo by kate lamberg (c) '19

No sun emerged in the east today. However, at one a.m., I saw la luna setting in the west.  She-moon is now in dreamy Neptune ruling, Pisces. Time to dream big, and  let those dreams  become larger than life.   Then we can  color in the spaces, with all our dreams, and conceive  how to concetize what once appeared  as  "simply a dream." Dancing occurs at any old tim e of day or night: Sometimes, under the light of the moon,  and sometimes in the pitch blackness, where only the ghosts can detect our erratic  frenzied movements.  Ultimately, there are extraordinary moments when we dance i n the broad swaths of golden autumn day light.  We flow with our visceral beings inside out,  backwards, irreverent, and free! Berries dangle on the edges  of autumn branches. Witnessing t he burnished leaves  and dying flowers does not i llicit sadness. Black walnuts fall off of trees, and make ...

HEALING RETREATS FOR FALL AND WINTER! Gentle yoga, Sound Healing, Yoga Nidre', Meditation, Guided Relaxation,   Reiki. October 5th, and December 7th . 10-2 Includes a vegan lunch. Suggested Donation- 40. Students/Seniors-   30 . Lead by Yogikate- Kate Lamberg, yogi/dancer, musician, poet, healer, workshop facilitator (since 1980). She has composed music and written poems specifically for healing. Her musical compositions for piano, and poems are utilized during  the relaxation/meditation portion of the retreat. No previous yoga experience necessary To register, and for directions, you may call or text: 631 334 2663 Namaste'!

Trepidation left the scene, at exactly the right time. Surety was felt in her fingers, veins, and feet. The change she desired was taking place in the proper order.  There is finality in action.    She would have a thought, and then there would be visible evidence that the thought form had  manifested into an action.  That was most favorable, practically a miracle! Her observations were noted. No conclusions would be made  until all  the evidence was delicately gathered. Not unlike viewing and gathering ...the last of the crisp vase- ready hydrangeas. Sadly, we had to view the demise of the huge white and magenta blossoms of  the towering myrtle trees. Now, the myrtle trees are almost as tall as the maple tree, the latter planted seven years ago-- on the northwestern corner of the property.

Reggae blares, "I will never fall in love again, only my heart feels the pain". The sky is clearing. From the living room window, the maple tree waves in the morning sunshine. It's green huge leaf hands will soon glisten golden orange and cordovan. Songs of leaving, being left keep pounding on the radio. Why is it that romantic song lyrics always elucidate th e fact that there is only one responsible party for break ups? It is always both people responsible. One person asserts that it is over, when it has been over for awhile . Both are too busy trying to keep it together. They're trying so hard to maintain status quo, that it begins to feel artificial like plastic flamingos in the yard. Those pink plastic flamingos never eat or sleep, never talk or listen.They are forever pink and innocent like babies, pink rouge, cherry soda, and watermelon. Enjoyed for their immediate beauty...but don't get too close! The feeling of touching plastic flamingos never satis...

Now—that’s the key. Mindfulness trains us to be awake and alive, fully curious, about  now . The out-breath is  now , the in-breath is  now , waking up from our fantasies is  now , and even the fantasies are  now . The more you can be completely  now , the more you realize that you’re always standing in the middle of a sacred circle. ~Pema Chodron

While moving to cicada sounds, with the rhythms of maracas, and the bubbled resonance of rivers, she noted to herself, how could there be anything BUT unity in the world?     

All night she slept under the canopy of stars, birds, trees-- the music that would be a part of her next composition on the ivories. She waited until after sunrise to walk to the piano, eager to have her fingers heat up, slip slide, and melt into the keys. The mutuality of their love for one another was concrete and unquestionable. For someone who did not know her, or the piano, that would only be evident when she began to play. When away from her baby grand, she moved with grace through the woods of her childhood. She knew that no experience in nature would be without grist for the mill-for her song compositions. Like the raw sugar spun for cotton candy, or the vinegary brine responsible for the perfect dill pickle, the power of transformation was up front and center--guiding the song, the dance, and the poem.

Sounds come thundering down. Peace bleeds with destruction on the news and between friends, before an understanding is established. . In all the arts, emotions birth poems, songs, paintings.  Often the triggered memories are incised with a plethora of emotions.The eureka moment is received  when the dusty books of  uncertainty are blown into crystal goblets   of understanding--  for absorbing, drinking, savoring. I never wanted to be someone who assumed anything in the artists' motivation for creating.. My motivation is understanding, my way of discovering is having patience in the unraveling.