Welcome to The Good News!


Sometimes I think the news media presents a warped, unrealistic view of our world. Their pattern of selecting stories for their fearful shock value keeps the worst of humanity ever-present in our awareness. Doing so contributes to and reinforces feelings and the belief that our world is worse than it really is.
One of the great advantages of my job is hearing from all of you about the miracles that are available, whenever we allow them. Unlike the evening news, being in touch with you paints me a picture of loving, powerful people, heroically moving through challenges, and stepping into one shift after another.
My special thanks to all of you who call and write me to share your breakthroughs (and breakdowns). I would like to begin sharing your stories here on this web site, as a resource to inspire and uplift -- to show the more enlightened stories of humanity. Knowing what others on the path are going through can help us to keep things in perspective.
You are encouraged to send me your stories of miracles, insights, operating bigger than your automatic reaction patterns, uplifting poems, making a difference, or simply something good you would like to be acknowledged for.

Enjoy the Stories and Poems


The Invitation

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

1995 by Oriah House, From "Dreams Of Desire"
Published by Mountain Dreaming
300 Coxwell Avenue, Box 22546, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4L 2A0

(This poem was submitted by one of my students, not by Oriah Mountain Dreamer)

All is well

I enjoyed a very nice walk which mostly entailed stopping to speak and touch the very beautiful roses and colored leaves of several shrubs, one bright yellow and one dark burgundy. The leaves appeared to be waxed. The mountains in both directions were majestic and serene.

And most of all -- the vineyards! The dried (ugly) stumps of a month ago are all lush with bright, fresh, green leaves. Those brown dried stumps never once appeared to have a promise of new life. I used to stand and stare and touch them. They appeared to my senses to be dead. But to those who knew from experiencing the life and cycles of the vines -- all was well. All was perfect. They did not try to change the brown stumps, nor doubt their ability to be transformed. I am sure they saw those stumps as beautiful with the promise of green leaves which eventually, in and at the appropriate time, would be laden with clusters of grapes to be harvested and crushed into exquisite wine to be enjoyed.

Georgette Balard

The Walk

I was a white man living in a black neighborhood. On my regular walks, I used to pass a fenced yard with playing children. The older kids had taken to teasing the youngest child with threats that I was going to "get" him. At first I played along, but as time went on, I began to see a deep fear setting into the face of the young child. I realized that as (probably) the only white man this boy knows, having me be a source of fear in his life was not setting him up for an optimal future with white people. So I told him I had been kidding, and I was not going to get him.

The next time I passed, the grandfather was out with the kids. He too joined in with the kids in telling me to "Get 'im." I stopped to explain my point of view to the grandfather, but all the while the kids were still hollering for me to "Get 'im."

Finally, to the surprise of everyone, I turned and walked through the gate, went straight up to the little one, and while hovering over him asked the others...

As they repeated their requests to get them, I repeated my assertion that I already got the one they told me to get.

Well, I not only made a new friend that day, and won the respect of the grandfather, I also felt in my heart that I had somehow brought us all closer together.

Ray Hix


THE LAND WHERE SOULS PLAY

by Michael Levy
Copywright 1999 Michael Levy All rights reserved

The letter "from Chief Seattle"

( My friend Elizabeth informed me that the thought-provoking letter by Chief Seattle, was not written by him, but by a playwright for a play. I like this message enough that I'll leave it posted for now. But apparently it was not written by Chief Seattle.)
"The president in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But how can you buy or sell the sky? The land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every meadow, every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people.

We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters. The bear, the deer, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadow, the body heat of the pony, and man, all belong to the same family.

The shining water that moves into streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must remember that it is sacred. Each ghostly reflection in the clear waters of the lakes tells of events and memories and the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father.

The rivers are our brothers. They quench our thirst. They carry our canoes and feed our children. So you must give to the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.

If we sell you our land, remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. The wind also gives our children the spirit of life. So if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers.

Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth.

This we know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

One thing we know: our god is also your god. The earth is precious to him and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator.

Your destiny is a mystery to us. What will happen when the buffalo are all slaughtered? The wild horses tamed? What will happen when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills is blotted by talking wires? Where will the thicket be? Gone! Where will the eagle be? Gone!

And what is it to say goodbye to the swift pony and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.

When the last Red Man has vanished with his wilderness and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, will these shores and forests still be here? Will there be any of the spirit of my people left?

We love this earth as a newborn loves its mother's heartbeat. So, if we sell you our land, love it as we have loved it. Care for it as we have cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you receive it. Preserve the land for all children and love it as god loves us all.

As we are part of the land, you too are part of the land. This earth is precious to us. It is also precious to you.

One thing we know: there is only one god. No man, be he Red Man or White Man, can be apart.

We our brothers after all."