Always Alice presents

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

>writer Melanie Lutz talks LOVE LAND at AMP Event

In Uncategorized on January 27, 2011 at 6:14 pm

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AMP EXPERIENCE hosts a Sunday Tea February 13th at Cantoni’s Design in Los Angeles
WITH LOVE
 
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>Need the Happy Version of this song….

In Uncategorized on January 27, 2011 at 6:14 am

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Adele’s awesome but seriously I need a bit more up with people.

smiles,

Melanie

>I feel this way in the morning!

In Uncategorized on January 26, 2011 at 6:17 pm

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photo by Andrew Zuckerman

>Kick off your Infinite Love and Gratitude Exchange Program…

In Uncategorized on January 26, 2011 at 6:48 am

>Today and everyday. Remember…

Nothing is accomplished looking outward and asking for permission or seeking approval. Every great achievement of authentic expression begins within from the pure space of knowing.  Take this moment to explore your inner space and watch the magnificence unfold as you deepen your personal practice of listening to your intuition.

brought to you by:

>Angels, Love, Light and Happiness

In Uncategorized on January 20, 2011 at 10:33 pm

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Messages arrive constantly and in an endlessly fascinating and wildly varied array of forms in our highly interactive smart phone heavy culture.

The question…. How can we increase our emotional musculature to process all this constant and chronic information that barrages our peace of mind?

For me I use a very simple method that was born out of a deep process of looking at everything that was said to me through a lens of love. With this lens firmly in place I ask myself…  “is this a message I need to hear and deeply receive? or is this a projection emanating from a wound that needs to be healed so it doesn’t show up again.”  

I feel truly blessed to wake up every day with an open heart to receive all the beautiful messages that continually arrive.

— THE MESSAGE THAT SHOWED UP TODAY —

Dear Melanie,

Just wanted to let you know that our conversation about choosing a theme for the year really helped me to zero in on what I want to focus on….so just wanted to say thanks for your inspiration. (My theme is “cherish time”….and I repeat it in my head like a mantra when I need to get refocused.)

I want to let you know that I think you are Amazing, Magnificent and Phenomenal. Truly.

I heard you speak at the AMP gathering as well as a recent dinner and both times, everyone was hanging on your every word. Not only do you have a presence that commands attention, but what you express is so heartfelt and deep and touching and universal.

I thought you’d like to know how other people see you.

Love,
Elaine

 Indeed…

In Grace and Appreciation.

>"This morning as I look into your eyes…"

In Uncategorized on January 17, 2011 at 8:10 am

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… I say to you, “I love you. I would rather die than hate you.” And I’m foolish enough to believe that through the power of this love somewhere, men of the most recalcitrant bent will be transformed. And then we will be in God’s kingdom. We will be able to matriculate into the university of eternal life because we had the power to love our enemies, to bless those persons that cursed us, to even decide to be good to those persons who hated us, and we even prayed for those persons who despitefully used us.

Oh God, help us in our lives and in all of our attitudes, to work out this controlling force of love, this controlling power that can solve every problem that we confront in all areas. Oh, we talk about politics; we talk about the problems facing our atomic civilization. Grant that all men will come together and discover that as we solve the crisis and solve these problems “the international problems, the problems of atomic energy, the problems of nuclear energy, and yes, even the race problem” let us join together in a great fellowship of love and bow down at the feet of Jesus. Give us this strong determination.”

Today we honor a man whose belief in the principles of Love in action as a social force of transformation ignited a movement that exploded heinous injustices across our land. Martin Luther King Jr. utilized Ghandi’s principles of non-violence to great effect. These words selected from the end of his sermon from 1957 in Alabama speaks to loving your enemies as yourself, to forgiving those “who have trespassed against you.” and to fully recognizing the true power of love.

I am glad to follow in some of the footsteps of a true soul stirring believer in the power of love. Please enjoy some of my past posts that include words and ideas brought forth by Martin Luther King Jr.

I hope you take today to open your heart in ways you never imagined possible and may your vision extend to all you meet with love.

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day!

Enjoy Dinah Washington singing This Bitter Earth…

“what good is love that no one shares.”

>Love’s First Kiss

In Uncategorized on January 16, 2011 at 10:20 pm

>Ahhh the feeling of the most gentle first kiss igniting our inner flame.

“L’Amour et Psyche, enfants” Amor cheek kissing Psyche. Oil on canvas by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. 1890
A Teeny Tiny Prayer
I am thankful for today, for the gifts I’ve been given, for the love I’ve experienced and for the generosity of spirit and integrity of purpose that shines through every circumstance that challenges my peace of mind, opening doors and new gateways to a deeper presence of myself.
In Grace and Appreciation
With LOVE
Melanie

from Melanie Lutz presents LOVE LAND

>Love in the Abstract

In Uncategorized on January 15, 2011 at 6:52 pm

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Life is such an ongoing lesson in how much love is available on the planet. It has been an interesting time and I for one continue to be inspired by the lessons that are delivered and the messengers that drop off their gifts. A dear friend of mine shared one of her favorite writings… The Nightingale and the Rose from The Happy Prince and Other Tales (1888) by Oscar Wilde at a recent Tea and while I have my own thoughts about its meaning I’d love to hear yours… 

 

“She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” cried the young Student “but in all my garden there is no red rose.”

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.”

“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.”

“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young Student, “and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.”

“Here indeed is the true lover,” said the Nightingale. “What I sing of, he suffers – what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.”

“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student, “and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her”; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.

“For a red rose?” they cried; “how very ridiculous!” and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.

“My roses are white,” it answered; “as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.

“My roses are yellow,” it answered; “as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.”
So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window.
“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”

But the Tree shook its head.

“My roses are red,” it answered, “as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.”

“One red rose is all I want,” cried the Nightingale, “only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?”

“There is away,” answered the Tree; “but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.”

“Tell it to me,” said the Nightingale, “I am not afraid.”

“If you want a red rose,” said the Tree, “you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.”

“Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,” cried the Nightingale, “and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?”

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

“Be happy,” cried the Nightingale, “be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame- coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.”

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

“Sing me one last song,” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.”

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

“She has form,” he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove – “that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.” And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river – pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose’s heart remained white, for only a Nightingale’s heart’s-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer, little Nightingale,” cried the Tree, “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.”

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

“Look, look!” cried the Tree, “the rose is finished now”; but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

“Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!” he cried; “here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name”; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

“You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose,” cried the Student. “Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.”

But the girl frowned.

“I am afraid it will not go with my dress,” she answered; “and, besides, the Chamberlain’s nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.”

“Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,” said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

“Ungrateful!” said the girl. “I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don’t believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has”; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

“What I a silly thing Love is,” said the Student as he walked away. “It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.”

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

Life offers up so many moments of reflection, of thoughtfulness, and of sharing. I am grateful to be surrounded by a community of highly intuitive, loving and deeply connected souls.

With LOVE,
Melanie

from Melanie Lutz presents LOVE LAND

>Dance, Dance, Dance…

In Uncategorized on January 12, 2011 at 2:30 am

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Sinatra narrates as Astaire, Powell rock out to a Cole Porter tune in one continuous dance sequence!

>Melanie Lutz presents LOVE LAND

In Uncategorized on January 10, 2011 at 9:53 pm

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The curtain is rising on a new chapter in Mel’s LOVE life.


LOVE LAND – releases digitally Feb 13th, 2011
download a copy as our gift to you.


OR 

ORDER THE HARD COPY

$35 Dollar Special Edition!
(includes 40 Day Change any pattern With Love workbook)

PRE ORDER a copy here of this special loving work.

Cara Mia La Bella!