I wrote this for my mother last Mothers Day. I still feel the truth in it.

. . . . . . . . .

Love As If

Love As If

I hold you in my heart in the same way

you held me in your arms way back then.

My memory is of warmth and softness and love

and belonging to you.

You took me to slumber parties, art lessons and

Dr. Zickafoos and we laughed and often

we cried- boy how I cried!

Sees candy and chocolate sodas were both the reward and the remedy back then

It’s my memory.

I know it wasn’t easy, this mothering thing

we share that in common you know.

I think the enormity took us by surprise and

knocked us over sent

us reeling down a tunnel of uncertainty

no words could ever have prepared us.

Years later we have found safer ground and made

our way to the side of the pool.

We like to sit around and talk about things.

“Where did you come from?” you ask these days

as if I dropped into your life unexpected from

a foreign country or outer space.

It’s my joy that I have become myself

and that you recognize that

in me.

But still you must know that we are not that different!

We have traveled ancient roads together roads

that our ancestors traveled it’s a scary thought!

I think they are with us now.

A mother is born from her child and a child is born from her mother.

It’s a miraculous story….

Lost in the telling of it we forgot that it

was a Celebration all along!!


We met on a sunny Saturday

our only purpose to weave words and dreams

and inspiration in to thin strips of fabric

gifts to ourselves and reminders of how

far we’ve come and how far we have yet to go.

We encouraged each other’s creativity and choices

and even told a story or two.

“Grace” and “Breathe” and “Fly” were the songs

we sang, songs that sprang from deep wells

of courage and healing and forgiveness

and love.

We have been heroines all along.

We have been creators and lovers of life, all along.

We saw ourselves in each other and stitched

that truth in to our creations, individually, and

yet we knew we weren’t the first to travel this path.

Women have been meeting for centuries.

Sit down softly, and surround yourself with space and time,

to create powerful beauty-for isn’t all beauty truly, ‘Powerful”?

I ask you to gather the things you love and offer them to your soul for its bidding.

Do you love newly sharpened pencils and bright containers of paint, so

delicious you want to eat them?

Do you love papers lovingly pressed in to thin sheets of possibility,

made possible by artisans in Japan, Africa and India?

Hand made beads are what fill my basket… I love to thread them and sew them in to canvas.

It’s an ancient ritual that connects me to my ancestors…some I haven’t even met before.

. . . . . . .

Please don’t tell me you can’t paint or draw or that you have never been creative, for I know this is your ego talking…  and not you.

The truth is you have been a painter all of your life!

Release the stories of what you can and can’t do and let them go.

You have opened the door and cleared the space, made empty now for you to fill.

Breathe in- your soul will help you travel this road together, and will deliver you to your true self!

YOU are a ‘Powerful” creator.

Here is another message from “The Crazy Ole Man”. Please accept this gift from the both of us.

. . . . . . .

Can you stop the rain?  No you say.  Will the wind cease blowing at your command?  No you say.  Does the sun rise and set based upon the schedule you determine?  Of course not.

You can not control these external realities, however you can adapt your actions to allow them to work for you. You can gather the rain to grow the foods to feed your body.  You can use the wind to fill the sails of your boat to take you to new places.  You can count the seasons by watching the sun set and rise each new day.

So why not also with the lesser things in your life of which you have no control?  Those situations, obstacles and people who at first glance appear to be labeled a problem or undesirable.

Look for the seed of opportunity in everything . . . just as you have found the seed of usefulness in the uncontrollable rain, wind and sun.  Find the seed of usefulness, the seed of greatness, the seed of love in every uncontrolled obstacle, situation and person you encounter.

From Reflections of the Crazy Ole Man – February 4, 2009

The Crazy Ole Man

"The Rock" & Beach - Morro Bay, Ca.

We took the little red car and headed North up Highway One to the Yerba Buena Exit. There’s a quicker access to the beach, but the heavy rains created a river that leads in to the ocean and prevents us from walking our typical mile, unless we are brave and wade barefoot through the rushing and freezing water. We like the Yerba Buena access because there are stairs that lead down and tide pools and miles of uninterrupted walking, if the tide is low. It has fewer tourists and more sea glass and sand dollars, sand pipers and snowy plovers. They are cuter than anything you have ever seen before.

We started out walking together in silence and then separated, lost in our own thinking. It’s not like we were unaware, we were aware, just temporarily lost. The wind that had been blowing for days died down and the sun was warm on our backs, and in our eyes, warming us from the outside in, reaching our hearts.

Up ahead we saw two adults and a toddler playing close to the shoreline, they were so lovely. We joined the little group and stood around admiring the day, the beautiful weather and sky, but it was the little boy who was truly worthy of our admiration. His skin was smooth and white, almost translucent, and he had bright red hair, striking in the late afternoon sun. He wasn’t wearing a beach hat to prevent sun damage, or anything else for that matter. He was unabashedly and completely free of clothing, dazzling in his nudity and dazzling to his awestruck admirers.

He was a “moment in time”, a gateway to the remembrance of childhood and “Freedom”. He was “JOY” and “living in the moment” and “there’s nothing to fear”, and “Divinity” and “Oh my God! Isn’t life Grand?” all wrapped up into one sweet little package.

After just the right amount of time we reluctantly broke free and continued walking together, turning back to the place where we started…and were completely lost once again.

Up the stairs we climbed and reaching the top we stopped to survey the distance we had come. The ocean was expansive, the sky too…and so were we. The little red car was pointed towards home, a warm cocoon now, we gratefully slipped inside and headed south this time.

One day she decided to open her hands and receive.

For those of you who don’t know, my husband Alan (The Crazy Ole Man) has been receiving messages, early every morning, for the past two years. Where do they come from? Is it God, spirit, or deceased ancestors? No matter what, it is a miracle.

Here is today’s message. Please keep in mind that this message is written in exactly the way it was dictated to Alan

. . . . . . . . .

Tell the story this day your heart wants to hear. During the telling leave out the details that may confuse or overwhelm you . . . simply tell the story your heart wants to hear. Do not concern yourself with judgments of easiness or difficulty . . . simply tell your heart the story it wants to hear. Then from a place deep within . . . take the steps . . . one at a time . . . remembering the softness that is led by the heart and guided by love.

Amazing miracles happen millions of times everyday to those who listen to and softly follow their hearts. Last nights Academy Awards gave you many wonderful examples of this in the lives of people your saw. But more importantly, many, many people you did not see were also touched by these miracles.

You also are touched by miracles . . . stay softly present in each moment to experience them. You are connected to millions of others who have miracles to share and also will honor the miracle you are.

Listen to your heart beat . . . it is speaking to you and the world. Listen to the energy of your heart beat.

Love whispers softly not loudly
not in desperate proclamations of forever
or never

bound up in expectations of flowery hearts
wrapped up in a bow
not ever.

Love whispers softly
speaking eloquence in spaces
with no beginnings or endings too complicated to frame
it can’t be contained or dissected
not ever.

Love whispers softly when doors open
and close and sunsets take their leave
burning crimson with flames my heart does too
but it will never burn out
not ever.

Love whispers softly in your breath
and my breath combined.
We breath the same currents of the same ocean
dancing unaware but I am aware of your
dancing untethered your spinning and twirling
promise me don’t stop – please
not ever!

. . . . . . . . .

© Marylou Falstreau and “Marylou And The Hourglass”, 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Marylou Falstreau and “Marylou And The Hourglass” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.