Excellent Michael Jackson video with Archbishop Tutu

I'll let the video do the "talking."

Deeper into the Forest

I experienced death for the first time in my life when I was eight years old, the death of my father. My father had what now is considered a fairly curable cancer. In 1956 when my mother was six months pregnant with me, the doctors told my father he had six months to live. He clearly wasn’t ready when the doctors said he would be.

Thankfully, both of my parents were two very spiritually enlightened individuals. My mother didn’t refrain from the truth about my father’s situation as I grew. What my mother did, something for which I will be forever grateful was ingrain in me that death was no less miraculous of an event than birth.

My father was going to a marvelous place where he’d see the face of God, his grandparents and his parents. My mother assured me (and my three siblings ages 6, 4, and 18 months) that when the time came my father would board a ship and while those of us on this shore would wave good bye for now and say “There he goes!” that those on the receiving shore would wave hello and say “Here he comes!” This painted a non-fearful picture of a journey. This is not to say I wasn’t profoundly saddened, but the brush strokes my mother used made death another chapter and not the end.

My mother, half Irish half Scottish, and my father, half Italian and half Scot/Irish both came from strong Catholic backgrounds and especially for Catholics at this time period they were very open minded. Two months before my father’s death, on Halloween, my 6 year-old brother and I visited my father in the hospital. During this visit, nurses rushed my brother and me from the room. What we didn’t know for a few days is that my father’s heart had stopped. As many who have experienced near death, my father’s experience was fairly typical. It was a place of intense love and comfort, but for four young children, he told us that where he was going you could eat hotdogs for breakfast, fish all day, swing on a tire in the moonlight, ask God anything you wanted, and best of all my father’s soul would watch over us all always.

A few nights before my father died, my mother sat in the hospital in a sitting room adjoined to the room where my father slept. My father’s voice in conversation distracted my mother. She rose from her chair and stood in the door way of the dimly lit room. My mother felt certain that someone else was in the room with my father. He spoke in answer to someone my mother could not see. His eyes followed the unseen presence around the room. It became clear at one point that the presence was standing right next to my father’s bed. My father held out his arms and cradled something which my mother could not see. Later my father explained to my mother that St. Anthony of Padua had visited him. He carried the Christ child. They spoke of many things, and during their conversation, St. Anthony asked my father if he’d like to hold the Christ child. My father accepted the invitation. While my father held the Christ child, St. Anthony told my father, that very soon he would begin a new journey, the pain would cease, and his family would be all right no matter what.

The morning after my father died, my mother shared this story and others in a way that cemented our universal view that life is eternal. Although my mother remarried a wonderful man several years later, and we were therefore blessed with a second father, and two more siblings, my mother often told me that my father was with her always. She told me she regularly dreamed that she would stand in a forest calling to him. He would come from behind a tree and embrace her. She would tell him she loved him and he would tell her that when she was ready, he would be waiting near that tree in the forest.

Five years ago today my mother walked deeper into the forest holding the hand of my father.

You Are an Utterly Precious Gift of God

Indigo clouds hovered over Boulder, threatening heavy rain and severe thunderstorms. Typically I like this kind of weather, but yesterday I’d planned a Free Hugs event to take place on the Pearl Street Mall (outdoors for those of you not familiar with the Boulder area). It sprinkled a short bit and my 14 year old son, his friend, a friend of mine and I held our Free Hugs signs and let the hugging begin. As anyone who has participated in Free Hugs, it is very inspiring and such a simple way to spread joy.

After an hour passed by, I noticed an attractive woman of about 70 years, wearing large dark sunglasses, situate her wheel chair twenty feet from where I stood. She smoked a cigarette. I have not yet quit smoking. I told my son and his friend that I was going to go join this woman for a cigarette.

“Do you mind if I smoke an evil cigarette with you?” I asked.

She laughed. “Please do.”

I detected a slight sophisticated southern accent in her voice. She wore a stylish jacket and black slacks. Her dark hair shined—not a hair out of place. I lit my cigarette and we discussed the run on rainy weather we were having. I told her that I lived in Fort Collins (an hour north of Boulder). We both agreed it was nice that it was only overcast at the present moment. While we continued this small chat, the woman in the wheel chair stubbed out her cigarette. Almost immediately a man who had been standing at a nearby kiosk marched right up to the two of us—talking while marching.

“Okay. That’s it. My customers don’t want to smell your cigarettes.” Instantly I stubbed out my cigarette and showed it to the man. He continued, “You know Boulder is trying to pass a law about smoking outside. You’d think you would have more consideration.”

After putting my hands together in the Namaste prayer fashion, I said, “I put the cigarette out. It’s over. I apologize.”

“What’s with you people?” the man asked. “You’ve been there for an hour smoking.”

I held up the snuffed out cigarette as he belabored the point. “Sir, I’m basically a good person and I do have a fault. I smoke. As soon as you said something I put the cigarette out and neither of us has been here for more than a minute or two.”

The woman in the wheel chair raised her hand in a sign of “stop” to the man. She put her hand on my arm. “Ignore him. So tell me about what you are doing over there with the free hugs.”

“Really, I said, “it’s about making yourself and others feel good. Some people come running for the hugs, some avoid us, others want a hug and their picture taken while giving us a hug. Several people from around the world with whom I work have recently returned from South Africa where we presented Archbishop Desmond Tutu with a Spiritual Leadership award.”

The woman placed her hand over her heart. “Child, you are so blessed. South Africa! Archbishop Desmond Tutu! Do you believe in chance meetings?”

“No ma’am, I do not.”

“Neither do I. What is your name?” she asked.

I told her and asked her name.

“My name is Patricia Jeanene Dimick.” (For privacy this is not the name she gave me.) Patricia enunciated each syllable of each name with such power and grace all at once. “I used to be beautiful. That’s in the past. I’m 71. My daughter died—oh what a loss—and left behind two small children. I had open heart surgery six months ago. My marriage isn’t what I’d like it to be. I have a staff infection in my leg—the reason I’m in this wheelchair right now.”

The southern accent gave such a passionate flavor to this list of less than happy circumstances. I couldn’t see her eyes through the dark sun glasses so I wasn’t sure of her state.

“Patricia, you still are beautiful—”

“I’m a simpleton and I’ll be the first to tell anyone. It’s all so simple. A free hug. A smile. Our friend over there at the kiosk doesn’t get that it’s so simple. With all of the things I just told you, I still wake up every morning and say ‘thank you, God.’”

I bent over and hugged Patricia. “It is simple.”

“Child, you have made my day.”

“It has been an honor to speak with you today, Patricia. I’m going to give you something.”

I walked over to where my flyers about unity and Oneness lie on the brick wall and picked one up and walked back to Patricia. After writing my name and email address on the flyer, I told Patricia to contact me. “Look at Humanity’s Team website. I think you’ll like it.”

“I don’t fuss with computers.”

I took the flyer back and wrote my phone number on it and handed it back to her, pointing out the picture of myself with Archbishop Desmond Tutu. “I’m helping to present the award to him here.”

Patricia raised her sleeves to show me her goose bumps. “Those are real.”

“I have to go Patricia, but you call me some time. And before I go, I’m going to leave you with the words that Archbishop Tutu left with those of us presenting him the award.” I held both of Patricia’s hands in mine and leaned my face close into hers. “You are a precious gift of God. You are an utterly precious gift. God loves you like you are the only person on the earth. Now, go be who you are—go be who you are.”

Patricia raised her sun glasses to show me the tears in her eyes. “This is joy. Today is destiny. If I died right this minute, I’d die happy.”

I hugged her again and assured her that she had made my day as well. It really is simple.

Letting Go

The more tools you collect for your toolbox, the better lives we will all have—because feeling good is contagious. I've been through quite a bit in my life and there have been many times when I've had a crisis occur where I was quite quick to jump off into hysteria, depression, anxiety attacks, bad tempers. In recent years I've gotten much better about reaching into my “toolbox” to live a happier life.

Just over a month ago, while in the middle of my two week trip in South Africa, I had a jacket stolen from me. This wasn't just any jacket. My mother had given me this very beautiful white jacket with a very unique design on it. It had been my mother's jacket and when she gave it to me she said, "Whenever you wear this I will have my arms around you." This jacket has had monumental sentimental value to me and even more so since my mother's death. When I realized the jacket was missing, I felt panic and loss and sadness. Like any dark cloud, I could feel the beginnings of letting this event take over my thought process. As I sat in a van riding across the spectacular savanna landscape of Autumn golds and reds, not appreciating where I was in the present moment, I suddenly thought, I’m in South Africa! How many people get the opportunity to visit such an amazing place?

I reached further into my toolbox. I brought out, "Someone must have really needed this jacket more than me" and "My mother always has her arms around me" and "I'm so grateful that I wasn't injured" and "I'm so grateful for all of the things I do have" and "I'm so grateful my children are healthy" and finally, "What am I to learn from this experience?"And I was sincere in all of these thoughts.

I'm still a little saddened by the loss of the jacket, but of all the gazillion things I do have, why should I lose my balance over the one thing I don't have? It doesn't make sense. I stayed with the thought about what does this experience have to teach me? The jacket was a thing. Yes, it had personal value, but bottom line, it was a thing and I was faced with two choices: hang on to the sadness or let it go. The lesson for me was letting go and truly believing that someone had a bigger need for the jacket than I did. I'm not excusing theft, but I feel that to dwell on anger and sadness has no effect on the person who took my jacket. It only has a negative effect on me, and then those around me.

Maybe this person was starving, maybe this person’s children were starving, maybe this person was cold. The possibilities are infinite; I know this. Regardless, I have forgiven the person, no matter the reason. In this instance, I remembered rather quickly to stay in the present, be grateful, and let go. And, look--how lucky I am to have a happy picture of me wearing the jacket.

Lest anyone think that I think I have it all figured out . . . yesterday I nearly threw my lap top computer out the closed window of my home office. Extreme frustration smothered me and I did allow a less than pleasant mood to take over . . . where was my toolbox yesterday?

Early Morning Bush Walk

Dear Friends and Family,

Many apologies for not keeping up with my blog...the one thing I'd not anticipated at all was the lack of internet capabilities while in South Africa...call me a city girl. I did keep notes and a journal and took hundreds of photos. I am now beginning to feel somewhat readjusted from extreme jet lag and a bout of the flu after my return to the states...so not necessarily in order...I continue my blog. This entry is from Thursday, April 23, 2009~the day of the Early Morning Bush Walk.

South Africa, deeply rich in its history, cultural traditions, friendly people and a wilderness so unique and completely different than what we, as Americans are accustomed to seeing, tops my list of magic and mystery. Prior to my trip I imagined seeing elephants, rhinos, hippos, hyenas, monkeys, giraffes, baboons, kudus, impalas, meerkats and the cats~lions, cheetahs, and leopards wandering tall grasses, thorny bushes and Baobab trees with their widely spreading crowns of foliage. I saw all of these animals in my mind’s eye and anticipated these wondrous beings roaming their natural homes, free and unbounded. Having never experienced a photo safari or the bush before, my only points of reference remained with movies, documentaries, books, and the zoo.

A brief glimpse from a morning bush walk in Kruger National Park, South Africa.

After a fairly bumpy hour long drive in an open jeep type vehicle, my friends and I arrived at the Sabi Sand game reserve in Kruger National Park before the break of dawn. This is also the site of the Umkumbe Lodge, very rustic with no barriers whatsoever between the lodge and the bush.

The air cool, the light a deep pre-sunrise and overcast gray-indigo, the monkeys, birds and hyenas greeted the day in languages of their own. Our bush walk guides welcomed us at a “base camp” with hot coffee and warm berry biscuits.

As we sipped the brew and nibbled on the sweets, the guides introduced themselves in thick South African accents and began giving us a few simple rules, while resting the firing end of their guns on the toes of their boots. “Number 1: Do not bring food on the walk, lest you care to be a meal. Number 2: We walk in single file. Number 3: Carry your feet quietly. Number 4: No talking~if you see something snap your fingers~do not scream ‘lion’ or ‘elephant’. Number 5: The guide in the lead will raise his hand if he wants everyone to stop. Number 6: Do not run from the wildlife~we carry a rifle with three shots primarily used as a warning~to encourage the animals to move in the opposite direction of the charge.” The word “primarily” perked up my ears. I thought of pythons and wondered if a python would “hurry” away. “Any questions,” the guides asked. “No? Good. We’re off.”

Everyone discarded their cups and plates, and lined up in single file. In the first minutes of our walk, under the morning cloud cover, our guides stopped to point out a hyena running through the bush ahead. The hyena stopped and checked us out and continued on his way, disappearing into tall autumn-gold grass. While all stopped, the guides explained to us that one or more predators were nearby…the vervet monkeys made warning cries which the guides understood well.

We walked a hundred more paces and the guide in the lead raised his hand. As we stopped, everyone looked around to see what they could see. The lead guide spoke softly and gestured toward the ground, “These droppings and prints belong to a pride of lions. We certainly do not want to walk in to a pride, so we’re veering off the original trail. If we walk into a pride, you will go home in the newspaper rather than on a plane.” I didn’t question this decision.

Along the alternative trail, both guides stopped us several times, educating us on the indigenous trees, shrubs and flowers, poisonous and medicinal, and plants that made good tooth brushes and other handy bathroom supplies. Several strides further and the lead guide’s hand rose in the air again. He pointed to the prints on the ground, “A leopard. The track is fairly fresh. We must go back to the base camp and get the jeeps.” What, I thought. Where is our bush walk? He reiterated going home on a plane versus in a newspaper.

Silently, against the backdrop of the music of the bush, we retreated to base camp and the ten of us climbed into the jeep. “Naughty little vervets,” said one guide. “They’ve scattered my cigarettes and chewing gum about.” The lead guide cleaned up the strewn items and made himself comfortable on a seat that jutted out from the front end of the jeep. The rear guide climbed into the driver’s seat and hurried us off on the dusty savannah roads toward a tree we had only moments before passed by on foot. As we came very near the tree, we saw the leopard, lounged on tree limb, looking regal and relaxed as a house cat. The leopard is a fabulously gorgeous animal and as he turned his head towards us, just 15 feet from where we sat, I made absolute, though brief, eye contact with striking yellow/green eyes. He saw me. The guide out in front on the seat, pointed just to the left in the tree, where the leopard had only moments earlier dragged an Impala up the tree for a safely kept meal. The guide in the driver’s seat whispered, “Quite rare to see the leopard at all for he is quite elusive, nocturnal and a master of camouflage.”

Everyone, jaws dropped, snapped pictures or filmed video…we were quietly awestruck. Little did we speak on our travel back through the bush to where we lodged an hour away.

I've not fully departed from South Africa...not sure I ever will, very sure I don't ever want to. South Africa has slipped into my soul...I knew this before I even boarded the plane here in the states. I often said to many people before I left that I felt part of me had taken a much earlier flight and already stood barefoot on the sandy earth of South Africa. It is bliss. I am blessed.

nannette rogers kennedy, May 2009

In Anticipation of Africa

This is where you can follow my journey, beginning today, seven days before I leave for South Africa. Given that I am a writer and I love the art of conversation (as all of my friends and family will attest), I find myself in the very interesting place of having no adequate words to describe the magnetic and magnificent pull I am feeling to this country. It is not unlike the feeling I experienced immediately after giving birth.

I walk, and have walked a path to inspire others for a number of years now. It is an energetically empowering path to say the least. Yes, I do it because it makes me feel good. It also makes the person with whom I try to inspire feel good, and finally, anyone who witnesses or hears of the particular deed, also feels inspired. It is contagious and addicting. I love it.

Humanity's Team has opened up a door and an awesome opportunity for me. Humanity's Team is a global grassroots movement focused on awakening the world to Oneness. I officially signed up with Humanity's Team about four years ago, and just over a year ago, I became actively involved with this incredible group. This year at the International Oneness Summit being held in Pretoria, South Africa, we (many of us from Humanity's Team) will present Archbishop Desmond Tutu with our annual Spiritual Leadership award. And I will help present this award with other teammates on Saturday, April 18th at Freedom Park in South Africa.

Such exhilaration comes with this whole event, that I've shouted from the highest mountaintop, also know as facebook, twitter, telephone, text messaging, emails, and ordinary conversation to everyone I see, stranger or not. Yesterday someone on twitter asked me how we got Archbishop Desmond Tutu. As a group we thought BIG. We asked. We received the word that Archbishop Tutu would be honored to accept the award. Power of intention at its finest.

Anyway, this is how I will keep you~my friends (old and new) and family updated on this trip. In essence, I will do my best to let you be there with me. Trust me, I will take a bazillion pictures, journal, blog, skype, talk.

love and gratitude,
nannette (scroll down to watch video with Desmond Tutu speaking about Humanity's Team Award.)

Let a Person Walk Alone With Few Wishes, Committing No Wrong, Like an Elephant in the Forest ~ unknown