Category Archives: PRAYER

Plague Doctor by LukeDenby on deviantART


Plague Doctor

Life  can seem so unfair?  When you possess a rotten tooth, there is a dentist. Doctors must always glean what is decaying or what is ailing us.  If it is a blockage of energy?  A great fear which has become stuck in our bodies. Yet, are doctors really trained to deal with the spiritual and psychological aspect of illness?  Isn’t it a very intuitive matter more akin to a musician.  A musician can smell the music going on inside of you.  In fact? I feel pretty certain that squirrels and birds can too!  When I was meditating a lot, my mind was a deep as a great fragrant lake. I would sit and meditate with my dried apricots on my knees.  A squirrel came right up and sat on my lap.


They know if you are transmitting favorable vibes.  Seems to me a doctor should be able to do the same at least as a squirrel!  This painting reminds me that our sins, our fears, our ugliness?  It is quite like the little lump of nigredo coal that will become a sparkling and glittering diamond. There is nothing that energy released and realigned cannot be set right. As if we were getting an over the air wireless update. I shudder when I think about the plague victims. How they were shunned.  Illness of everyone belongs to us all. A prayer for those afflicted and my God Bless you with all the angels and saint.

Conversely?  Once a catteprilar came to comfort me.

I was crying before work in a navy polka dot dress?  I was sitting amongst the most delicate flowers of speckled perfection in Bryant Park. I just felt I missed my family and I sat there crying in the early morning.  I looked at my knee and a most amazing pink and yellow caterpillar must have sauntered all the way of my leg to my knee.  I was delerious.  I asked the park grounds keeper to take it off. He said “Miss Lady, don’t you know that is very good luck!  Like Snow white” The animals love you.  But the caterpillar was quite haute coutour. He reminded me of a pair of Louboutin shoes in bright pink and yellow.   Now, I pray and it feels as if grace is delivered like brightly wrapped aluminum multi colored sweets to bless me from beyond.

Wishing everyone healing and may a butterfly land upon your nose.

Plague Doctor by LukeDenby on deviantART.


Taking the Neapolitan mastiff fantasy a little too far


Taking the Neapolitan mastiff fantasy a little too far.


Former New York City Mayor Ed Koch dead at age 88 –

It’s hard not to be very moved by his death.  Life is so precious and we take it for granted.

Especially in how we treat others.   My prayers go out for his family.

“You punch me, I punch back,” Koch once memorably observed. “I do not believe it’s good for one’s self-respect to be a punching bag.”

via Former New York City Mayor Ed Koch dead at age 88 –




St. Philomena Medal Set


Shop Philomenafamily St. Philomena Medal Set.

It doesn’t really matter why, I simply love you Saint Philomena.

There are lies and there are absurdities. When ever I pray, and all is so clear in my heart as to my deepest wishes, dreams and realizations?  Whenever I see the depths of majestic glory? It’s as if there were some elusive force destined to make me suddenly fool of myself, Denying all that I love if even in public. I know that some great men of have sold their birthright for a bowl of lentils, denied God 3x as did Peter and most of the apostles were pretty rough around the edges, even killers.  I must remind myself to forgive my own absurdity if even bad advertisement for the heavenly.  That only serves to impress me all the more how and why you are a Saint, Blessed Saint Philomena.  How you were born with a heart of divinity.

Pray for us sweet and precious Saint Philomena.

Review: Crying: The Natural and Cultural History of Tears – Books – The Austin Chronicle

by Tom Lutz

Tom Lutz has managed to stuff hundreds of factoids about crying into Crying: The Natural and Cultural History of Tears — everything from a hilarious explanation, circa 1579, of the brain being the source of tears (“when the brain is compressed it ejects great quantities of tears”), to a paragraph on the topic of Bill Clinton’s crocodile tears. In fact, brain compression is precisely the effect of reading Crying, though Lutz’s factoids, contrary to the 1579 theory, don’t cause the reader to manifest Squirt-Gun Eyes. One does, however, feel glimmers of an illumination about the mysterious topic of shedding tears that never comes to pass.

via Review: Crying: The Natural and Cultural History of Tears – Books – The Austin Chronicle.

he Science of Tears

When was the last time you had a good cry? Shedding tears may be healthier than you thought, and the secret lies in the chemical composition of tears.

Tears are continually produced in small quantities by the Tear Glands, which are located on the outer side of each eye, slightly above the eye and underneath the eyelid. Tears, which are spread evenly over the front surface of the eye during blinking, clean and lubricate the eye. An important component of tears is lysozyme, a chemical that inhibits bacterial growth on the eye’s surface. Some of the tears evaporate, but the remainder are drained into the nose through the Tear Duct, keeping the nose moist. Lysozyme from the tears prevents bacterial growth in the nose as well.

Another interesting discovery about the content of tears was made by Dr. William H. Frey II, a biochemist at the St. Paul-Ramsey Medical Center in Minnesota. He and his team analyzed two types of tears: the emotional ones (crying when emotionally upset and stressed) and the ones arising from irritants (such as crying from onions). They found that emotional tears contained more of the protein-based hormones, prolactin, adrenocorticotropic hormone, and leucine enkephalin (natural painkiller), all of which are produced by our body when under stress. It seems as if the body is getting rid of these chemicals through tears. That explains why we usually feel better after a good cry. So, there you go. Cry as much as you want – it is probably good for you. But no cheating by inducing crying with onions. Your tear glands know the difference.

The unforsaken heart is mind <3


Mind As Healer, Mind As Slayer:

A Holistic Approach to Preventing Stress Disorders

Mind as Healer, Mind as Slayer is a seminal book on the link between stress and four major types of illness: cardiovascular disease, cancer, arthritis, and respiratory disease. Dr. Pelletier offers a holistic approach to preventing stress disorder, exploring the sources of stress and supplying methods for evaluating one’s own stress levels. He gives readers profiles of various disease-prone personalities and includes a practical section on the prevention of stress-related diseases through such techniques as meditation and biofeedback. Book jacket.

Mind As Healer, Mind As Slayer A Holistic Approach to Preventing Stress Disorders | Kenneth Pelletier | Twelfth Printing | Good Books in the Woods.

Operazione Mal Occhio

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arrivoby gipictus Pro @ 2010-02-19 – 15:13:23

Un mese fa sono uscito dal castello. Avevo sottobraccio gli incartamenti con i quali ho superato gli uffici della registrazione, della messa in lista, della consegna degli esami, della sottoposizione degli stessi, dell’approvazione temporanea, delle registrazioni, degli ampliamenti e ridefinizione, della partenza…forse. Il palazzo si stagliava alto e grigio all’angolo dell’autarchico ufficio postale con i suoi grifoni all’ingresso di graniglia e la via principale a due corsie attraversata a profonde strisce nere. Mi strinsi nel mio impermeabile mentre una folata di pioggia mi colpi’ il viso. Ne ero uscito, indenne, direi. Il tempo e’ maestro. Gli uomini no.


L’ambulanza mi venne a prendere all’alba. Lampeggiante nella notte, gettando luci fosforescenti rossastre contro le pareti della mia stanza creando ombre oblique che si dileguavano a intermittenza come cocktail velenosi rovesciati. Arrivato all’ingresso vengo accolto nel biancore, la temperatura si alza, cosi’ anche i sorrisi di falsa rassicurazione. Subito l’ago di una siringa lattiginosa mi viola il braccio, il sangue mi sembra piu’ scuro del solito, non posso fare a meno di pensare ad una strana discordanza emofiliaca. Del primario noto vari dettagli: una camicia carta da zucchero in doppio filo ritorto, la sua cravatta azzurra con gli orsetti, molto piccoli come quelli di glucosio e un orologio bellissimo il cui vetro perfetto sovrasta la parte metallica. Deve valere molto. Pantaloni il suo nome, ma io lo prendo per Pantaleo facendone il mio daimon.


Di nuovo vengo esaminato. La ragazza della radiologia mi alza le braccia contro la lastra d’impatto e sento le sue mani fredde sui miei fianchi e il suo odore di capelli appena lavati. Sorride e ha delle sopracciglia bellissime. Il macchinario mi stira e vengono fotografate le mie interiora. Le ombre sui polmoni, la consistenza del fegato, la composizione della milza. Osservo il personale nel corridoio asettico: una dottoressa sessantenne che ha un fisico da cinquantenne con i capelli color azzurro come se fosse uscita da Avatar, sorridente, allegra, leggera. Un infermiere piccolo, i peli gli spuntano dalla maglietta, mezzo calvo, silenzioso, come preso da qualcosa che viene da fuori, ma non ha niente a che fare con il suo lavoro. Un uomo vestito da uomo, giacca e pantaloni blu scuro scuro perfetti, scarpe cucite a mano impeccabili, forse un amico, un rappresentante, un qualcuno che fa parte del giro, ma di striscio.


Mi osservano, mi studiano, mi parlano, mi interrogano. Anch’io li interrogo. Qualcuno si stupisce. Io no e chi poi mi operera’ nemmeno. Ha una camicia sgualcita, una vecchia maglietta logora sotto, una viso paonazzo, e’ molto alto, tossisce ogni tanto, ma capisco che non e’ tosse da fumo. E’ giovane eppure non ha un aspetto ottimale. Mi chiede di dove sono, gli rispondo e mi racconta che ha passato tre anni a Helsinki. Mi dice come e cosa vuole fare, cosa del mio racconto lo ha convinto, cosa potrebbe essere diverso e cosa invece non ha importanza. I suoi occhi sono dolci ed e’ competente. Anche lui mi stringe la mano, ma non tanto per fare, ma come uno che saluta qualcuno con il quale avra’ un seguito.


Ogni sala chirurgica, detta semplicemente ‘sala’ ha il vago aspetto di un mattatoio, cartoni di soluzioni fisiologiche, bisturi a migliaia, lacci emostatici, ampolle. Un grande laboratorio di acciaio con il tipico tessuto verde scuro qui e la’. L’anestesista ha una maglietta gialla con scritto ‘work in progress’ e vengo infilzato da quattro aghi contemporaneamente che mi fanno fare una danza alla gamba per verificare i collegamenti dei nervi. Lentamente si addormenta, troppo lentamente. Altre punture. La branda e’ troppo corta e io con solo la maglietta e le brache di cotone ho freddo. E’ una questione di batteri che nelle sale operatorie faccia sempre freddo? Mentre guardo il soffitto metallico e la grande lampada del diametro di un piccolo ufo mi incidono. Sono convinto di vedere scorrere il sangue da qualche parte ma non avviene. La pressione si abbassa, non sento nessun odore, solo le loro voci calme.


Portarsi in giro una gamba che non risponde ai comandi e’ singolare. Io dico ‘muovetevi’, ma le dita dei piedi non si muovono. Mi riportano nel calore della cameretta, la televisione non funziona, ho gia’ finito due libri, mi attende un tomo di seicentosessanta pagine che finirò due giorni dopo.

Il sole e’ sparito, su Pisa cala un vento forte e poco dopo si abbatte una pioggia leggera, che lava i pini marittimi nel giardino davanti all’edificio. Grandi chiome verdi che danzano un saltarello.


Mi sento frastornato, fragile, e dipendente. Sta di fatto: operazione Mordecai conclusa.



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