Gratitude is the weft that holds the weave of everyday life in place for me. Each Thanksgiving I pause to show myself just what fibers brought me to this moment in time. What weft and weave colored your life this year?
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THANK YOU pencils chimney smoke ice scrapers cinnamon rolls baked apples baby toes WITH GRATITUDE email state quarters memories chocolate caramels books hope president obama GRACIAS cell phones calculators MANY THANKS laughter surprises gifts snowflakes candles paychecks words twilight movie sweeny todd THANKFULNESS wicked elphaba smiles MAHALO cranberries lemons family FOR THIS I’M THANKFUL friends full gas tanks cocoa butter lotion starlight fresh flowers chocolate cake FULL OF THANKS pecan pie fabrics sewing machine I’M GRATEFUL buttons grandchildren sunsets adventure THANK GOD fresh laundry haircuts doctors contact lenses massages holidays rituals music silence WITH FULL THANKS poetry purple MERCI graceful aging longtime friends new friends smiles tears love composting wisdom CONTINUED THANKS cattle dog gentle cat MY THANKS paper fleece bed baking bread slippers sisters aunts children nieces nephews uncles baptisms I GIVE THANKS goodbyes hellos APPRECIATION applause compliments education FOREVER GRATEFUL dictionaries dreams goals geo-caching roofers house-siders survival compassion kin empathy DANKA charity imagination sleep creativity my heart sings with the blessings that rain in my life this Thanksgiving Day 2008 A.D. questions light thunder rain breezes artists teaching peppermint WITH THANKFULNESS skiing snowboarding UNENDING THANKS health teeth trust faith spirit energy colored cotton bolles winks secret smiles jokes mysteries gardens the well oaks maples THANKFUL HEART palms breath touch WITH A FULL HEART beaches fair trade coffee bagels violins pianos tennis shoes printer catnip newspapers justice toes ears garlic onions spontaneity
Monday, November 24, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Unclaimed Tears
Who do these tears belong to? The ones that are filling the center of my chest with a feeling of emptiness and strangulation. I've searched my head for reasons but find none to justify the intensity of the dark stone that has anchored itself there.
I first recognized it during a sunny day. "Where did YOU come from?", I asked as I drove the familiar freeways home from work. My mind backstitched the day lifting up images of people or situations that may explain this presence. There were plenty of possibilities but none accounted for the circumference of dispair in the center of my chest.
True, I had recently breathed in various forms of hostility; person to person, religion to religion, culture to culture, candidate to candidate, manager to employee, customer to employee, family member to family member, all of which combined could create a spiritual tsunami. Could I be carrying a little bit of ALL of them? Had I allowed multiple energies from numerous sources to settle in me?
It has happened in me before. When Princess Diana died, I felt for weeks as if the tears of the world resided in me. A depth of emotion traveled through me as if I were a conduit for the global grieving souls who mourned her loss. I could not explain it nor let it go. I reached out for healing to move me through it. Throughout my personal herstory as the media pictures and stories of God's innocents lying bloodied, mutilated, lost and hopeless their eyes questioning the 'why' of their situation, (whether that occured as a natural disaster or human induced), I felt the stone of sadness then too.
But I know that looking for the WHY is so often an ugly and endless journey. Finding the answer to WHY too often ends in blame and finger pointing and conclusions of "if only". As in, "if only SOMEone or SOMEthing had been different, this tragedy would not have occured. Life is what it is. I find no satisfaction going down the road of who's responsible for this heaviness of heart. I'd rather
determine what to do to alleviate it.
For my own health, mental, physical and spiritual, I intend to cry. To let go of the tears of whoever is using me as a conduit to find an out to their sadness. Perhaps it will then provide release to whatever souls have reached across time and space to for someone to feel their pain, embrace their struggle and allow new light to shine in their hearts. Perhaps as they travel the highways of their lives they will feel that release and ask, "Now where did that come from?", and be content to embrace it with a smile.
And when my heart is lifted without mental reason, I will thank whomever is doing the same for me.
I first recognized it during a sunny day. "Where did YOU come from?", I asked as I drove the familiar freeways home from work. My mind backstitched the day lifting up images of people or situations that may explain this presence. There were plenty of possibilities but none accounted for the circumference of dispair in the center of my chest.
True, I had recently breathed in various forms of hostility; person to person, religion to religion, culture to culture, candidate to candidate, manager to employee, customer to employee, family member to family member, all of which combined could create a spiritual tsunami. Could I be carrying a little bit of ALL of them? Had I allowed multiple energies from numerous sources to settle in me?
It has happened in me before. When Princess Diana died, I felt for weeks as if the tears of the world resided in me. A depth of emotion traveled through me as if I were a conduit for the global grieving souls who mourned her loss. I could not explain it nor let it go. I reached out for healing to move me through it. Throughout my personal herstory as the media pictures and stories of God's innocents lying bloodied, mutilated, lost and hopeless their eyes questioning the 'why' of their situation, (whether that occured as a natural disaster or human induced), I felt the stone of sadness then too.
But I know that looking for the WHY is so often an ugly and endless journey. Finding the answer to WHY too often ends in blame and finger pointing and conclusions of "if only". As in, "if only SOMEone or SOMEthing had been different, this tragedy would not have occured. Life is what it is. I find no satisfaction going down the road of who's responsible for this heaviness of heart. I'd rather
determine what to do to alleviate it.
For my own health, mental, physical and spiritual, I intend to cry. To let go of the tears of whoever is using me as a conduit to find an out to their sadness. Perhaps it will then provide release to whatever souls have reached across time and space to for someone to feel their pain, embrace their struggle and allow new light to shine in their hearts. Perhaps as they travel the highways of their lives they will feel that release and ask, "Now where did that come from?", and be content to embrace it with a smile.
And when my heart is lifted without mental reason, I will thank whomever is doing the same for me.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
A Stitch and Time
Sewing, I've discovered, is not only a favorite pastime but my metaphor for living. I begin with a full length of fabric, cut out multiple pieces, then sew them together to match the picture on the pattern cover. Easy? Nope. The fabric has right sides and wrong sides. The pattern's arrows and dots need to be matched up accurately. I achieve the best product results when I use the correct thread; cotton or polyester for strength and hold; rayon topstitching for beauty and stitch intensity; silk for fine weave fabrics. And I need the appropriate needle. Rounded point, stretch needle, sharp, topstitch, embroidery, leather, denim, twin or wing.
My life follows those principles. I begin with all possibilities spread before me, choose the ones I want to fit together, and then imagine what picture will result. Easy? Nope. The possibilities have positive results or negative results. My timing doesn’t always match up or I miss the arrows leading to match points. Now for holding the possibilities together. Is it my intention to plan for long-term durability? Do I select based on image or public approval or self satisfaction? As I move forward with my plan I need to wisely decide when to use gentleness and when to be direct but possibly unpopular. It’s important to consider whether I’m dealing with folks who are tough as leather, woven tight as denim or perhaps fragile as tulle or voile. What kind of tracks do I intend to leave for the future? Do I require the backup of a solid twin plan or the distinctly fragile but beautiful proven affect of the heirloom wing needle design?
And then there’s backstitching. In order for my plans not to unravel I back up once in awhile tracing my steps to be sure I’m still on my chosen path. Is it possible for my journey to move forward by sheer determination? Or will I require some underlying support (in sewing--the bobbin and stabilizer) from my interior strengths and/or external advisors on the journey?
In any given circumstance, should I choose the path of clear contrast--black and white rigid rules for instance, or a blend of multicolor threads/diversified sources? And when my process comes to completion, will it still resemble the images I began with or will it have morphed into whatever influences time stitched into its journey?
Multiple outcomes present themselves in the questions. A stitch and time reveals the end product.
My life follows those principles. I begin with all possibilities spread before me, choose the ones I want to fit together, and then imagine what picture will result. Easy? Nope. The possibilities have positive results or negative results. My timing doesn’t always match up or I miss the arrows leading to match points. Now for holding the possibilities together. Is it my intention to plan for long-term durability? Do I select based on image or public approval or self satisfaction? As I move forward with my plan I need to wisely decide when to use gentleness and when to be direct but possibly unpopular. It’s important to consider whether I’m dealing with folks who are tough as leather, woven tight as denim or perhaps fragile as tulle or voile. What kind of tracks do I intend to leave for the future? Do I require the backup of a solid twin plan or the distinctly fragile but beautiful proven affect of the heirloom wing needle design?
And then there’s backstitching. In order for my plans not to unravel I back up once in awhile tracing my steps to be sure I’m still on my chosen path. Is it possible for my journey to move forward by sheer determination? Or will I require some underlying support (in sewing--the bobbin and stabilizer) from my interior strengths and/or external advisors on the journey?
In any given circumstance, should I choose the path of clear contrast--black and white rigid rules for instance, or a blend of multicolor threads/diversified sources? And when my process comes to completion, will it still resemble the images I began with or will it have morphed into whatever influences time stitched into its journey?
Multiple outcomes present themselves in the questions. A stitch and time reveals the end product.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Reversed Lighthouse Effect
I like lighthouses. They spread their wide beams full circle on a darkened body of water. When I am in the periphery I can reassess my location and choose my path to safety. The light has no ego, it is not drawing attention to itself, it just serves to light the darkness and leaves the destination up to me.
Now make the leap with me here. . .I've been finding many talk shows really boring. Finally I recognized why. The hosts and guests alike seem to search for a light beam that shines on THEM and supposes the rest of us will follow the light to satisfy their ego need for recognition. To bring glorifcation and applause for what they have done to get themselves noticed. They work to HOLD the beam of light, not to let it expand their view of what or who is out there in the undiscovered world. This is when I find my energy draining. No one is funny enough to hold my attention for a full hour when the light keeps returning to the person in the 'chair'. So Jay Leno, David Letterman, Conan O'Brien, you fulfill my image of Reversed Lighthouse Effect.
The talk show I enjoy the most, the one that both enlightens and entertains me by shining the light on science, politics, environmental concerns, personal talent, health, nutrition, everyday heroism, concern for all creatures great and small, literature, gender issues, money management and more, is ELLEN. For me she provides a Holistic view of life as seen from the Lighthouse. It inspires me to find my own way out of the darkness through information. The true Lighthouse Effect.
Maybe when your name is defining all you believe in and stand for in such a public way, it creates a humility to be fully genuine whenever the light crosses your place in the great body of humanity? No, in the case of ELLEN I think she comes TO the light already humble and genuine. So she doesn't need to have the light affirm her. Therefore she allows the light to keep moving on to other subjects and objects of concern and interest.
Just the way I see it today. What thoughts does this spark for you?
Now make the leap with me here. . .I've been finding many talk shows really boring. Finally I recognized why. The hosts and guests alike seem to search for a light beam that shines on THEM and supposes the rest of us will follow the light to satisfy their ego need for recognition. To bring glorifcation and applause for what they have done to get themselves noticed. They work to HOLD the beam of light, not to let it expand their view of what or who is out there in the undiscovered world. This is when I find my energy draining. No one is funny enough to hold my attention for a full hour when the light keeps returning to the person in the 'chair'. So Jay Leno, David Letterman, Conan O'Brien, you fulfill my image of Reversed Lighthouse Effect.
The talk show I enjoy the most, the one that both enlightens and entertains me by shining the light on science, politics, environmental concerns, personal talent, health, nutrition, everyday heroism, concern for all creatures great and small, literature, gender issues, money management and more, is ELLEN. For me she provides a Holistic view of life as seen from the Lighthouse. It inspires me to find my own way out of the darkness through information. The true Lighthouse Effect.
Maybe when your name is defining all you believe in and stand for in such a public way, it creates a humility to be fully genuine whenever the light crosses your place in the great body of humanity? No, in the case of ELLEN I think she comes TO the light already humble and genuine. So she doesn't need to have the light affirm her. Therefore she allows the light to keep moving on to other subjects and objects of concern and interest.
Just the way I see it today. What thoughts does this spark for you?
Friday, September 12, 2008
Tiffany Glass Garden
Tiffany glass in the garden. A single raspberry held up to the sun brings this image. Every plump bump that forms a hollow ball of exquisite taste is a summer pleasure annually. The aroma of cooked jam lingers in my kitchen now, as I write. Eight stained glass jars pop, pop, pop with the seal of assurance that they will protect my treasure until just the right opening presents itself.
One of my tasks in childhood was to get up early (I still don't do that well), go out to our garden before the sun jumpstarted the day, lift the cheesecloth protection, fight the mosquito's lingering in the cool branches, search around the prickly branches to pluck each berry and fill up my bowl before the birds came for their breakfast. Breakfast those days was always special. During a Brownie Scout campout, we had just settled on to our army cots under the big canvas tent and turned lights out when we heard the tires on the gravel approach the leaders tent. 'Bunny', one of our counselors lived on a farm. Her parents were bringing us the biggest silver kettle of the freshest just picked raspberries I'd ever seen. Ten eager girls scampered to the kitchen pulling out every thing resembling a bowl, counted out spoons, and watched expectantly as fresh, rich cream lifted each jewel to the top of our bowl in greeting. Nothing tasted as good as that surprise, afterhours treat.
Given a choice of DQ toppings, Raspberry is the only consideration. Even better than chocolate, carmel or cashews. Filling in a sweet roll, coffee cake, torte, two layer cake? Need you ask? And Raspberry vodka? Unbeatable. Raspberry sauce on baked chicken? Try it you'll like it! Raspberries added to fresh garden salad with pecans; bring it on.
Food of the gods is how I often describe it. I picture royalty in ancient Greece or Rome popping beaded treasures into their mouths while lounging and enjoying music and dance of a social event.
Is there a taste that triggers mouth watering memories for you?
Let's get together and feast.
One of my tasks in childhood was to get up early (I still don't do that well), go out to our garden before the sun jumpstarted the day, lift the cheesecloth protection, fight the mosquito's lingering in the cool branches, search around the prickly branches to pluck each berry and fill up my bowl before the birds came for their breakfast. Breakfast those days was always special. During a Brownie Scout campout, we had just settled on to our army cots under the big canvas tent and turned lights out when we heard the tires on the gravel approach the leaders tent. 'Bunny', one of our counselors lived on a farm. Her parents were bringing us the biggest silver kettle of the freshest just picked raspberries I'd ever seen. Ten eager girls scampered to the kitchen pulling out every thing resembling a bowl, counted out spoons, and watched expectantly as fresh, rich cream lifted each jewel to the top of our bowl in greeting. Nothing tasted as good as that surprise, afterhours treat.
Given a choice of DQ toppings, Raspberry is the only consideration. Even better than chocolate, carmel or cashews. Filling in a sweet roll, coffee cake, torte, two layer cake? Need you ask? And Raspberry vodka? Unbeatable. Raspberry sauce on baked chicken? Try it you'll like it! Raspberries added to fresh garden salad with pecans; bring it on.
Food of the gods is how I often describe it. I picture royalty in ancient Greece or Rome popping beaded treasures into their mouths while lounging and enjoying music and dance of a social event.
Is there a taste that triggers mouth watering memories for you?
Let's get together and feast.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Out of the Many ONE
A small group of people are passionately expressing their opinions about the topic under discussion. My dream camera focuses on each face in turn. Suddenly I am the one speaking. Quietly but firmly I say, "the truth is that the more each one of us becomes our true self, the more all of us become ONE. Becoming our true self connects us all at the core of the ONE who created us, and there we are all the same." And then I woke up.
"What was that?" I wondered upon waking. The words burned in my reflective mirror throughout the day. I looked at each person I encountered from a new perspective. "How could I ever be ONE with them?" my thoughts challenged me. I was flooded with duality thinking, those human separations of me from you, right from wrong, always from never.
E Pluribus Unum; Out of the Many, One. It's been right there on our currency and coin for hundreds of years. I knew it, understood it, embraced it and repeated it. After my dream, the onion of understanding peeled away another layer and I was seeing with new eyes. In the 70's the word Namaste was used frequently among spiritual study groups. Translated for newcomers to the word as, "the divine in me sees the divine in you." I went to the grocery store one day determined to try this out. Entering the store I focused silent energy on a man resting on his cart, with his back to me. I directed all my love and energy toward him with the thought, "the divine in me sees the divine in you." repeating it several times in my head.
After just a few seconds he turned completely around and locked eyes with me. I nodded kindly and just kept pushing my cart into the produce aisle. Just a quirk I told myself. So I tried it again and again as I filled my cart from my grocery list. Only once was I unable to connect. I felt a kind of thick wall of energy blocking one woman from acknowledging the directive of my thoughts. The experience changed ME. I became more aware than ever that on a deep level all our roots tangle and touch in the ONEness of our creation. We do not move forward by pulling away from our centering place.
During every volatile political season, duality terms are shouted from every microphone, podium, headline and newscast. While many candidates say UNITY is what they're seeking, duality is the vehicle that drives the journey.
This reflection is not intended to be a political forum. But my mirror caught the reality reflection of my outer world while my dream spoke the truth of my inner world. Which to complicate things further, is ALL ONE WORLD. Out of the many, ONE. Becoming our true selves connects us as ONE at the core. I believe that. I'm trying to BE-LIVE that as well.
Your thoughts?
"What was that?" I wondered upon waking. The words burned in my reflective mirror throughout the day. I looked at each person I encountered from a new perspective. "How could I ever be ONE with them?" my thoughts challenged me. I was flooded with duality thinking, those human separations of me from you, right from wrong, always from never.
E Pluribus Unum; Out of the Many, One. It's been right there on our currency and coin for hundreds of years. I knew it, understood it, embraced it and repeated it. After my dream, the onion of understanding peeled away another layer and I was seeing with new eyes. In the 70's the word Namaste was used frequently among spiritual study groups. Translated for newcomers to the word as, "the divine in me sees the divine in you." I went to the grocery store one day determined to try this out. Entering the store I focused silent energy on a man resting on his cart, with his back to me. I directed all my love and energy toward him with the thought, "the divine in me sees the divine in you." repeating it several times in my head.
After just a few seconds he turned completely around and locked eyes with me. I nodded kindly and just kept pushing my cart into the produce aisle. Just a quirk I told myself. So I tried it again and again as I filled my cart from my grocery list. Only once was I unable to connect. I felt a kind of thick wall of energy blocking one woman from acknowledging the directive of my thoughts. The experience changed ME. I became more aware than ever that on a deep level all our roots tangle and touch in the ONEness of our creation. We do not move forward by pulling away from our centering place.
During every volatile political season, duality terms are shouted from every microphone, podium, headline and newscast. While many candidates say UNITY is what they're seeking, duality is the vehicle that drives the journey.
This reflection is not intended to be a political forum. But my mirror caught the reality reflection of my outer world while my dream spoke the truth of my inner world. Which to complicate things further, is ALL ONE WORLD. Out of the many, ONE. Becoming our true selves connects us as ONE at the core. I believe that. I'm trying to BE-LIVE that as well.
Your thoughts?
Now I'm Happy!
Her tiny hands gripped the wooden spoon forcing Chocolate Chips to rise and fall like waves into the creamy mocha-colored dough. Eggs leapt Humpty Dumpty style off the edge of the bowl, shiny yellow centers disappearing in the rotary blades. Her eyes grew wide, her questions flowed. "Where did the eggs go, Grandma?" She noted that sugar came in two colors white and brown, but they also disappeared into the mix. In her throat she made the mmm mm anticipation sound; something good was going to come out of this, she expected it.
Before today her experience of cookies came from choosing them out of the package. Or picking them off the shelf at the grocery store. But today, she KNEW she was able to make this magical taste herself. She glowed with her newly realized skill. Today at 3 she discovered that putting things together could make them even better then having them separately. Her satisfaction with being a part of the process showed in her deep sighs. Her body trembled with joy.
"Now I'm Happy!", she said several times to no particular audience. Just an honest child's declaration of feeling joy in the moment.
I don't recall the last time I made that statement aloud. Do you? What a thrill to experience something for the FIRST time, no matter how many times we've experienced it before.
NOW, I'M HAPPY! I'm going to count the number of times I become aware of that clarity today. I invite you to play along. . .
Before today her experience of cookies came from choosing them out of the package. Or picking them off the shelf at the grocery store. But today, she KNEW she was able to make this magical taste herself. She glowed with her newly realized skill. Today at 3 she discovered that putting things together could make them even better then having them separately. Her satisfaction with being a part of the process showed in her deep sighs. Her body trembled with joy.
"Now I'm Happy!", she said several times to no particular audience. Just an honest child's declaration of feeling joy in the moment.
I don't recall the last time I made that statement aloud. Do you? What a thrill to experience something for the FIRST time, no matter how many times we've experienced it before.
NOW, I'M HAPPY! I'm going to count the number of times I become aware of that clarity today. I invite you to play along. . .
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Eyes Have It.
Headline news held two striking images for me this week. The close-up pictures of the eyes of top Olympic athletes as they began each competition. And, in contrast, the eyes of the Russian soldiers preparing to demolish the State of Georgia.
In the eyes of the athletes I read determination, calculated moves, the drive to succeed and show their BEST performance, and HOPE. A great fire of depth, clarity and expectation. Dominant in the eyes of the soldiers I read a shallow, glazed-over look. Determined? Yes. Calculated? Perhaps. A drive to succeed? I couldn't see that but it might have been there. HOPE? That's what was missing in my view of their eyes.
I read the contrast between being YOUR BEST and BESTing your neighbors! A clarity in the eyes of those with their eyes on their own pre-set goals versus lack of clarity in the eyes of those who were following the goals set for them by others.
Often both sets of eyes burned into me from side by side positions on MSM's home page. Too starkly contrasted to miss. Which story did I want to read first? Which filled me with joy, satisfaction and hope? And which story shredded my heart, pulled out the protective mother bear emotions and made me want to gather up the torn bodies, lives and dreams of people whose eyes carried shock, disbelief, fear and hopelessness? A rhetorical question to which you already know the answer.
The Eyes Have It. What will you read in the eyes you encounter today and over this next week? Even those in the mirror.
In the eyes of the athletes I read determination, calculated moves, the drive to succeed and show their BEST performance, and HOPE. A great fire of depth, clarity and expectation. Dominant in the eyes of the soldiers I read a shallow, glazed-over look. Determined? Yes. Calculated? Perhaps. A drive to succeed? I couldn't see that but it might have been there. HOPE? That's what was missing in my view of their eyes.
I read the contrast between being YOUR BEST and BESTing your neighbors! A clarity in the eyes of those with their eyes on their own pre-set goals versus lack of clarity in the eyes of those who were following the goals set for them by others.
Often both sets of eyes burned into me from side by side positions on MSM's home page. Too starkly contrasted to miss. Which story did I want to read first? Which filled me with joy, satisfaction and hope? And which story shredded my heart, pulled out the protective mother bear emotions and made me want to gather up the torn bodies, lives and dreams of people whose eyes carried shock, disbelief, fear and hopelessness? A rhetorical question to which you already know the answer.
The Eyes Have It. What will you read in the eyes you encounter today and over this next week? Even those in the mirror.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Small World???
We all saw the breaking news during the Olympic coverage, couple attacked while visiting a tourist attraction. A collective, compassionate sigh was heard around the world. When it was announced that it was an American couple, a collective American sigh was felt across the ocean. In Minnesota another holding of breath and then a sigh was felt when the couple's identity was noted to be from that state. As the victim's names were released, one dead and one in intensive care with stab wounds, the city of Lakeville, MN began to feel the pain and loss. Throughout the state the pain and loss became more real as well. These people had touched many lives through their well known family floral business and civic involvement. And of course the family, friends, neighbors who knew them best, suffered most.
There, I believed, the pain came to rest. Not so. I was checking out a family funeral in the Beaver Dam, Wisconsin newspaper. The local church noted the Olympic couple's death as one of the denomination's family. The denomination' community shared by so many.
It was then I became crystal clear how the pebble dropping in the pond ANYwhere, effected people EVERYwhere. Count the number of 'communities' touched by this one event. Unfortunately, a negative life event, but masses touched just the same.
If we were more acutely aware how the actions of just one person could impact the people in the farthest corner's of this small world, would we live our lives differently? We could all begin today, right now, making sure our thoughts, words and deeds sent out positive ripples to stroke the face, move the flowers, carry the music of positive life to 'family' we never met.
Are you game to try?
There, I believed, the pain came to rest. Not so. I was checking out a family funeral in the Beaver Dam, Wisconsin newspaper. The local church noted the Olympic couple's death as one of the denomination's family. The denomination' community shared by so many.
It was then I became crystal clear how the pebble dropping in the pond ANYwhere, effected people EVERYwhere. Count the number of 'communities' touched by this one event. Unfortunately, a negative life event, but masses touched just the same.
If we were more acutely aware how the actions of just one person could impact the people in the farthest corner's of this small world, would we live our lives differently? We could all begin today, right now, making sure our thoughts, words and deeds sent out positive ripples to stroke the face, move the flowers, carry the music of positive life to 'family' we never met.
Are you game to try?
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
What's in YOUR toolbox?
Everyone carries a toolbox. I've seen a stall box, whine box, get 'er done box among others.
One person wears out the tools and his/her welcome by using the whine box too often. "I could do better BUT THEY give me too much to deal with. I'm expected to do everything myself! I have no time for fun, I'm working ALL the time." Tears have top priority in the box and they effectively turn the attention from the problems of others to pity for the self. Thus avoiding resolving the issues at hand.
The stall box holds arguments, excuses, distractions enough to loop constantly 24/7, with the intention of wearing out the opposition before being required to respond. "Why should I? I did it yesterday. Who said so? Not now. I have to so something else first." Thus avoiding resolving the issues at hand.
Get 'er done toolbox grabs at anything available to get it over with, with no concern for doing it 'right'. A hammer to fix the screw on glasses kind of response. "So there, I did it, don't ask me again." Spray painting the symptoms to hide the deeper issues. The kind of response that causes used cars to crash, bridges to fall down, relationships to shrivel in confusion. Like putting band aids on earthquake sites.
Despondency toolboxes carry volumes of past failures, shattered dreams, self recriminating reasons for not trying again. "What do you expect from me? I never do anything right. I screwed up before I'll scew up again."
Toolboxes have traditionally been used to FIX things. Maybe the rusty hinges need to be reoiled to stop the squeaks. Or maybe it is self-gift time to replace it?
What's in YOUR toolbox?
One person wears out the tools and his/her welcome by using the whine box too often. "I could do better BUT THEY give me too much to deal with. I'm expected to do everything myself! I have no time for fun, I'm working ALL the time." Tears have top priority in the box and they effectively turn the attention from the problems of others to pity for the self. Thus avoiding resolving the issues at hand.
The stall box holds arguments, excuses, distractions enough to loop constantly 24/7, with the intention of wearing out the opposition before being required to respond. "Why should I? I did it yesterday. Who said so? Not now. I have to so something else first." Thus avoiding resolving the issues at hand.
Get 'er done toolbox grabs at anything available to get it over with, with no concern for doing it 'right'. A hammer to fix the screw on glasses kind of response. "So there, I did it, don't ask me again." Spray painting the symptoms to hide the deeper issues. The kind of response that causes used cars to crash, bridges to fall down, relationships to shrivel in confusion. Like putting band aids on earthquake sites.
Despondency toolboxes carry volumes of past failures, shattered dreams, self recriminating reasons for not trying again. "What do you expect from me? I never do anything right. I screwed up before I'll scew up again."
Toolboxes have traditionally been used to FIX things. Maybe the rusty hinges need to be reoiled to stop the squeaks. Or maybe it is self-gift time to replace it?
What's in YOUR toolbox?
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Turtle Teacher
A 30” snapping turtle bellied her way across our freshly cut lawn last week. She quickly retracted her extended neck when the crank on my opening window alerted her to possible danger. Within a few minutes, 5 curious adults and as many children surrounded her at a safe distance to themselves; wondering why she was so far from home in our suburb. I chose to think she was exploring a new path; striking out on a journey of independence. She rested in fern protected rocks for the night. By sunrise the next morning she was halfway across the neighbor’s yard heading west by northwest at Slowski speed. I smiled at her determination to proceed at her own pace toward destinations known only to her. But I lost my smile later that day when I heard that a well-meaning neighbor picked her up and carried her the length of a football field back in the direction from which she just came. He deposited her in a shallow water runoff ditch he assumed was her home.
Well-meaning folk often try to send people back where they came from. When your journey crosses their path and they determine you’re zinging their comfort zone.
I love the 4th of July/Independence Day Celebration. For one day we wave and wear red, white and blue, make music, delight in abundant food and togetherness. It is my yearly reminder that we the people are stronger when we are independent, interdependently. You know what I mean?
As a nation we have sometimes been the well-meaning neighbor who tried to put the turtle back where it ‘belonged’. We have intruded on the journey of a country, a culture, a religious sect or lifestyle that has zinged our comfort zone and sent them in a new direction; for their own good of course.
People have tried to move me in another direction too when my questions, perspectives, non-traditional thinking has zinged their comfort zone. I’ve been nudged out of religious organizations for questioning whether living sequential lifetimes may be possible; that dreamtime consciousness takes us to realms not known in body consciousness; that we would be enriched if we saw the Source of All from collective points of view, instead of possessively guarding the vision passed down from our singular heritage. We are a contradictory life-form, we humans, we put in windows to let in the light, then cover them with shades to keep that same light out. Selective sight.
I believe true Independence, the ability and courage to make right decisions based on our center of truth, no matter how alienating, isolating and uncomfortable that becomes, is at the center of healthy Interdependence. Like strong trees each reaching for their own light while rooted in the same soil with others doing the same, that then creates a unity called forest. Out of the many—ONE; never ceasing to appreciate the continuing contribution of the many.
Whenever we wave our red, white, and blue, star studded flag we are signaling that we are one of those forests in this part of planet earth. We raise our collective voices to other forests announcing that we rejoice in the Independence of each amidst the Interdependence of many. That first we are Independent persons within a forest of Interdependent people, within all forests whose roots entwine deeply into the planet and life-force we all call home. Sea to shining sea is not our personal bookend. That sea flows to, through and beyond our forest to sister and brother forests globally.
I’m watching for that turtle to appear again. To persist on her path to independence no matter how many times she zings our comfort zone in this neck of the forest.
Well-meaning folk often try to send people back where they came from. When your journey crosses their path and they determine you’re zinging their comfort zone.
I love the 4th of July/Independence Day Celebration. For one day we wave and wear red, white and blue, make music, delight in abundant food and togetherness. It is my yearly reminder that we the people are stronger when we are independent, interdependently. You know what I mean?
As a nation we have sometimes been the well-meaning neighbor who tried to put the turtle back where it ‘belonged’. We have intruded on the journey of a country, a culture, a religious sect or lifestyle that has zinged our comfort zone and sent them in a new direction; for their own good of course.
People have tried to move me in another direction too when my questions, perspectives, non-traditional thinking has zinged their comfort zone. I’ve been nudged out of religious organizations for questioning whether living sequential lifetimes may be possible; that dreamtime consciousness takes us to realms not known in body consciousness; that we would be enriched if we saw the Source of All from collective points of view, instead of possessively guarding the vision passed down from our singular heritage. We are a contradictory life-form, we humans, we put in windows to let in the light, then cover them with shades to keep that same light out. Selective sight.
I believe true Independence, the ability and courage to make right decisions based on our center of truth, no matter how alienating, isolating and uncomfortable that becomes, is at the center of healthy Interdependence. Like strong trees each reaching for their own light while rooted in the same soil with others doing the same, that then creates a unity called forest. Out of the many—ONE; never ceasing to appreciate the continuing contribution of the many.
Whenever we wave our red, white, and blue, star studded flag we are signaling that we are one of those forests in this part of planet earth. We raise our collective voices to other forests announcing that we rejoice in the Independence of each amidst the Interdependence of many. That first we are Independent persons within a forest of Interdependent people, within all forests whose roots entwine deeply into the planet and life-force we all call home. Sea to shining sea is not our personal bookend. That sea flows to, through and beyond our forest to sister and brother forests globally.
I’m watching for that turtle to appear again. To persist on her path to independence no matter how many times she zings our comfort zone in this neck of the forest.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Questioning the Questions
I have always been a questioner. How does toothpaste get into the tube? Who invented shampoo? If God created everything, who or what created God? How long is forever? Why does sadness hurt physically? What will I experience when my spirit leaves my body? If the universe is a circle then if I go far enough toward Heaven won't I end up going toward Hell? Or vice versa? If I don't believe in Heaven or Hell what keeps me accountable on my spiritual path? How much wood, would a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Beautiful, wonder-filled, delicious questions.
Questions make me push the parameters of the moment and consider answers ranging from the sacred to the mundane. Questions play with my brain the way champagne bubbles tickle my nose. Searching the answers leads me to thoughts, places, actions I may not have otherwise considered exploring. Questions are like snake tongues darting out ahead of the body to taste what's coming. (and checking in two directions at once by the way.) Or, like soapy bubbles released from a wand, tumbling waywardly, and rocking with a rainbow reflection of all the directions of my surroundings. Theologians have challenged me to 'live the questions'. There was a time I nodded knowingly and with absolute confidence that I understood what that meant. Lately, I am less certain about what I absolutely know. The King of Siam (The King and I) was clear about that.
Along the way I discovered some questions had edges to them like serrated knives cutting instead of inviting me on a journey of discovery. Questions like, "Who do you think you are?" Or, "Are you stupid or what?" (I always thought I was the or what, whatever that meant.) Questions like "What makes you think you're so smart?, "Can't you do anything right?, "Why do you ask so many questions?" All asked to intimidate, humiliate, pour out negative energy on a flame of potential. These are not just questions asked of children, as they may have originally sounded. Even in this second third of my life, I've been asked these questions. They knock that bubble right out of the air, put a sting into the champagne's tickle, they have expelled the 'delish' right out of delicious. These questioners were not enjoying the open window on a new thought. They were slamming the window shut while defending their own impatience, ignorance, perceived power, or, I don't know, just being mean perhaps.
Which raises more questions. How much hate or anger does it require to pound another personality into oblivion? How long does it take the pounded one to pop out the dents and recover? How does the powerful feeling 'feel' when stolen from another through intimidation? What would happen to that same power if it were used with uplifting words and actions? Should we ever reach an age when we're too old to ask questions? If there is a next life, may we ask questions there? Is there always an 'answer' to every question? What does life ask of me? What do I ask of life? What should I have for lunch today?
Questions make me push the parameters of the moment and consider answers ranging from the sacred to the mundane. Questions play with my brain the way champagne bubbles tickle my nose. Searching the answers leads me to thoughts, places, actions I may not have otherwise considered exploring. Questions are like snake tongues darting out ahead of the body to taste what's coming. (and checking in two directions at once by the way.) Or, like soapy bubbles released from a wand, tumbling waywardly, and rocking with a rainbow reflection of all the directions of my surroundings. Theologians have challenged me to 'live the questions'. There was a time I nodded knowingly and with absolute confidence that I understood what that meant. Lately, I am less certain about what I absolutely know. The King of Siam (The King and I) was clear about that.
Along the way I discovered some questions had edges to them like serrated knives cutting instead of inviting me on a journey of discovery. Questions like, "Who do you think you are?" Or, "Are you stupid or what?" (I always thought I was the or what, whatever that meant.) Questions like "What makes you think you're so smart?, "Can't you do anything right?, "Why do you ask so many questions?" All asked to intimidate, humiliate, pour out negative energy on a flame of potential. These are not just questions asked of children, as they may have originally sounded. Even in this second third of my life, I've been asked these questions. They knock that bubble right out of the air, put a sting into the champagne's tickle, they have expelled the 'delish' right out of delicious. These questioners were not enjoying the open window on a new thought. They were slamming the window shut while defending their own impatience, ignorance, perceived power, or, I don't know, just being mean perhaps.
Which raises more questions. How much hate or anger does it require to pound another personality into oblivion? How long does it take the pounded one to pop out the dents and recover? How does the powerful feeling 'feel' when stolen from another through intimidation? What would happen to that same power if it were used with uplifting words and actions? Should we ever reach an age when we're too old to ask questions? If there is a next life, may we ask questions there? Is there always an 'answer' to every question? What does life ask of me? What do I ask of life? What should I have for lunch today?
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Turning Points
On his way to a Puerto Rican beach to surf, a young man saw a dog barely alive. Putting down his board, he approached the dog, and turned his heart to a whole new future. The local area called Dead Dog Beach, where locals dumped dogs they didn’t want became the turning point in his life’s purpose; to stop seeking fun at every turn and instead to saving, reviving, bringing to health and placing these throwaways with people who would love them.
With my dark skinned bi-racial 18 month old in my bike carrier seat, I wheeled around the corner in our small town neighborhood. A 9 year old girl living a few houses down looked up and sneered aloud “N_ _ _ _ _!” Everything in me vibrated with protective rage. I opened my mouth to respond and unwittingly became a ventriloquist’s puppet speaking words that came through me but not from me. “You are a very pretty girl,” my words lied out loud. She smiled, I fizzled instead of erupting. She never, ever hasseled us in any way after that day. I became instantly aware how futures can change on the strength of word choices.
I once held anger so close for so long that I didn’t know how to put it down and walk away. Being angry gave me strength and a purpose. “I’ve been wronged! “I deserve to be angry.” My anger protected me from feeling anything BUT anger. And then one day something in me said, “Enough.” When that happened, as quietly as a breath exhaled, my eyes cleared, doors of opportunity opened and that stranger – happiness – started showing up again.
Turning points are everywhere. They are symbolic turnstiles; just a little push, a willingness to move to the other side of the space that separates what was, from what will be. The turning itself can be powerful inaction. While externally nothing has changed, everything is different.
It brings to mind the 60’s song, "for everything, turn, turn, turn; there is a season, turn, turn, turn; and a time for every purpose under heaven. . ." The words are scripture, but singing the song somehow lends itself to the feeling of the change taking place.
Wisdom Walker recommends keeping a turning points journal for one week. Those moments of change you observe in the world, are made aware of through others or any media, or those you experience on your daily path.
(You may respond to WW at, bonney.wisdomwalker.oelschlager@gmail.com)
With my dark skinned bi-racial 18 month old in my bike carrier seat, I wheeled around the corner in our small town neighborhood. A 9 year old girl living a few houses down looked up and sneered aloud “N_ _ _ _ _!” Everything in me vibrated with protective rage. I opened my mouth to respond and unwittingly became a ventriloquist’s puppet speaking words that came through me but not from me. “You are a very pretty girl,” my words lied out loud. She smiled, I fizzled instead of erupting. She never, ever hasseled us in any way after that day. I became instantly aware how futures can change on the strength of word choices.
I once held anger so close for so long that I didn’t know how to put it down and walk away. Being angry gave me strength and a purpose. “I’ve been wronged! “I deserve to be angry.” My anger protected me from feeling anything BUT anger. And then one day something in me said, “Enough.” When that happened, as quietly as a breath exhaled, my eyes cleared, doors of opportunity opened and that stranger – happiness – started showing up again.
Turning points are everywhere. They are symbolic turnstiles; just a little push, a willingness to move to the other side of the space that separates what was, from what will be. The turning itself can be powerful inaction. While externally nothing has changed, everything is different.
It brings to mind the 60’s song, "for everything, turn, turn, turn; there is a season, turn, turn, turn; and a time for every purpose under heaven. . ." The words are scripture, but singing the song somehow lends itself to the feeling of the change taking place.
Wisdom Walker recommends keeping a turning points journal for one week. Those moments of change you observe in the world, are made aware of through others or any media, or those you experience on your daily path.
(You may respond to WW at, bonney.wisdomwalker.oelschlager@gmail.com)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Finding Treasures
'Seek and you will find', has taken on a new meaning with a global adventure called Geo-caching. Using a GPS of the type fishing enthusiasts employ to track the best location to drop a line; the intent is use the information to lead you to a cache hidden in nature. In the crotch of a tree, behind a bush, under a pile of bark and leaves, for instance. After choosing one of the hidden items left in a protected container, you also leave something for the next explorer to uncover.
That is EXACTLY the tool I've always wanted to find my purpose in LIFE! I'd simply input where I am at present and where I'd like to be in the near future, and I'd get exact locations to turn, search and discover the rewards I've been searching for.
I often use dreams as one of my locators. But the symbols are more vague. Like one of the times I was desperate to know my next move on my career journey and my dream showed me stepping out of bed unto a mound of gems. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires so real I could feel them pressing into my sensitive soles. Ah, so my treasure is right under my feet? I simply need to walk my talk to find it? I need to approach it with uncovered senses (IE, no shoes to get in the way of my touching the truth)? I need to allow them to touch my sensitive SOUL?
Another coordinate I'm attuned to is the wisdom that comes from multiple directions. The words that rock me with their truth from casual acquaintances, strangers, authors, movies, bird songs sending slices of joy through cloudy skies, flowers growing out of sidewalk cracks, not to be stopped by being between a rock and a hard place.
And, LISTENING. That's another coordinate that zeros in on my treasures. Everyone hears, but not everyone listens. Oh, yes, that would be a speed bump I trip over more than occasionally. I have this really persistent inner voice for one thing. It warns me to slow down, be alert, not to rush to judgment, in a given moment to make eye contact or to put my arm around someone's shoulder, to compliment not criticize and often, to hold my tongue when it wants to roll off an unrequested solution to a pending problem. Only when I listen does the coordinate get me where I need to be.
Come to think of it perhaps I've always had a GPS. A God's Purpose Selector.
That is EXACTLY the tool I've always wanted to find my purpose in LIFE! I'd simply input where I am at present and where I'd like to be in the near future, and I'd get exact locations to turn, search and discover the rewards I've been searching for.
I often use dreams as one of my locators. But the symbols are more vague. Like one of the times I was desperate to know my next move on my career journey and my dream showed me stepping out of bed unto a mound of gems. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires so real I could feel them pressing into my sensitive soles. Ah, so my treasure is right under my feet? I simply need to walk my talk to find it? I need to approach it with uncovered senses (IE, no shoes to get in the way of my touching the truth)? I need to allow them to touch my sensitive SOUL?
Another coordinate I'm attuned to is the wisdom that comes from multiple directions. The words that rock me with their truth from casual acquaintances, strangers, authors, movies, bird songs sending slices of joy through cloudy skies, flowers growing out of sidewalk cracks, not to be stopped by being between a rock and a hard place.
And, LISTENING. That's another coordinate that zeros in on my treasures. Everyone hears, but not everyone listens. Oh, yes, that would be a speed bump I trip over more than occasionally. I have this really persistent inner voice for one thing. It warns me to slow down, be alert, not to rush to judgment, in a given moment to make eye contact or to put my arm around someone's shoulder, to compliment not criticize and often, to hold my tongue when it wants to roll off an unrequested solution to a pending problem. Only when I listen does the coordinate get me where I need to be.
Come to think of it perhaps I've always had a GPS. A God's Purpose Selector.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Word Painting
Some of my favorite writing is word painting. Haiku is one of the brushes I choose for it's conciseness in joining visual images and emotions in a minimal space. Purists would deny my entries are 'by the book' Haiku. I won't argue with them. I don't remember the last time I did anything 'by the book'. So just enjoy. Write some of your own. Share them like melt-a-way chocolates on the tip of your tongue.
*********
Sun closes its eye
Winds rock the restless shore waves
Campfires spark the moon
*********
January cold
Squeaks beneath my warm snow boots
Frosts my gloved fingers
*********
Strawberry perfume
Wafts from rain soaked summer field
Taste-buds salivate
*********
Awakening Spring
Peeks from budding blanket leaves
“has the winter gone”?
*********
mother zips my smile
laces spontaneity
marches me off to learn
*********
red amaryllis
trumpets recent arrival
in full blown silence
*********
*********
Sun closes its eye
Winds rock the restless shore waves
Campfires spark the moon
*********
January cold
Squeaks beneath my warm snow boots
Frosts my gloved fingers
*********
Strawberry perfume
Wafts from rain soaked summer field
Taste-buds salivate
*********
Awakening Spring
Peeks from budding blanket leaves
“has the winter gone”?
*********
mother zips my smile
laces spontaneity
marches me off to learn
*********
red amaryllis
trumpets recent arrival
in full blown silence
*********
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Perception Management
In David Baldacci’s book, THE WHOLE TRUTH, I was introduced to a new definition of evil. Perception Management (PM) is a military term that describes making up information, then managing its distribution with frequency of exposure within broad scope coverage until nearly everyone hearing or reading it believes it as truth. You know like the childhood evil of saying someone has done a bad thing, then writing notes, telling it to friends, continually speaking it aloud until no one bothers to question the validity of the accusation. In the adult world the same thing happens and we try to excuse it as gossip, while not being quite sure which side of belief we are on. And rarely do we make an effort to check it out or stop further spread of the accusation.
In politics the MANAGEMENT of perception becomes even more evil as it can involve pitting nation against nation, culture against culture and religion against religion. And spread of the perception may serve a second purpose; as a distraction to keep minds busy while the powers behind the management of the created perception perform other actions, sometimes atrocities, in situations just outside the limelight.
Hollywood has been using PM for years. To bolster actors, movies, storylines into top rating status. Models and fashion designers do the same. Large corporations, anyone with a logo, churches and just about all of us have used PM in some form to advance our cause, success, popularity. But when evil (live spelled backward) turns the premise into a way to influence or control the minds of the masses we should all be on super alert.
The reading of this book brought my senses to a new height. Looking for the WHOLE truth behind headlines, rumors and presentation of information will become an added mission.
I invite you to check it out and tell me what you discover. . .
In politics the MANAGEMENT of perception becomes even more evil as it can involve pitting nation against nation, culture against culture and religion against religion. And spread of the perception may serve a second purpose; as a distraction to keep minds busy while the powers behind the management of the created perception perform other actions, sometimes atrocities, in situations just outside the limelight.
Hollywood has been using PM for years. To bolster actors, movies, storylines into top rating status. Models and fashion designers do the same. Large corporations, anyone with a logo, churches and just about all of us have used PM in some form to advance our cause, success, popularity. But when evil (live spelled backward) turns the premise into a way to influence or control the minds of the masses we should all be on super alert.
The reading of this book brought my senses to a new height. Looking for the WHOLE truth behind headlines, rumors and presentation of information will become an added mission.
I invite you to check it out and tell me what you discover. . .
Coveting What We Already Possess
The video had me rolling off my chair with laughter. The dog chewing his bone on the couch is suddenly approached by his own left foot. He growls ferociously at the 'intruder' and when his foot continues to move toward the bone he snarls and nips at it – over and over again. Why his left leg is plaguing him is unknown. But the family videotaping this scene is rollicking with laughter and so are those of us viewing it in the latest email send.
As soon as the laughing tears subsided, this reflective mind wondered how much like this dog are we? Guarding a possession so aggressively that anything becomes a threat of its removal, even the desires of another part of our selves.
Think on this. . .
As soon as the laughing tears subsided, this reflective mind wondered how much like this dog are we? Guarding a possession so aggressively that anything becomes a threat of its removal, even the desires of another part of our selves.
Think on this. . .
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Pebble in my Palm
In the front of the room a bowl of water held a pile of small stones. The teaching exercise was to choose a pebble to remind you of something you intended to give up in order to let LIFE energy fill your whole being. A single ebony stone resembling a heart called to me. I dipped my fingers in to lift it into my palm. Walking back to my seat I reveled in the smoothness and shine of the tiny wet symbol.
I will give up self-doubt, I boldly covenanted with myself. The heart shape would remind me that loving my skills and talents would honor the LIFE energy just waiting for permission to bloom through me. I smiled thinking, I can do this.
Sitting down I turned the pebble over loosely in my hand noticing that upside down it resembled a decayed black tooth. Ouch, I winced. Knowing my resistance to fully trusting myself, maybe this effort will be like pulling teeth. Or possibly the decay was already too advanced to stop its spread. This process could hurt, I realized.
Later I looked at the pebble from the top where a smoothly worn shape clearly resembled a tear drop. Hmmm. Tears of pain? Of loss? Of fear? Or could it be tears of joy for finally realizing that believing in my worth would bring great things? The origin of the tears doesn't matter, I reasoned. Tears move us on when we let go of what was, to make room for whatever will be. This could be exciting, I concluded.
Another turn of the stone revealed a miniature footprint. Suggesting I would have to walk the walk to reach my goal. Whoever said stones don't speak? I wondered. I just had a full conversation with this pebble in my palm.
What speaks to you today?
I will give up self-doubt, I boldly covenanted with myself. The heart shape would remind me that loving my skills and talents would honor the LIFE energy just waiting for permission to bloom through me. I smiled thinking, I can do this.
Sitting down I turned the pebble over loosely in my hand noticing that upside down it resembled a decayed black tooth. Ouch, I winced. Knowing my resistance to fully trusting myself, maybe this effort will be like pulling teeth. Or possibly the decay was already too advanced to stop its spread. This process could hurt, I realized.
Later I looked at the pebble from the top where a smoothly worn shape clearly resembled a tear drop. Hmmm. Tears of pain? Of loss? Of fear? Or could it be tears of joy for finally realizing that believing in my worth would bring great things? The origin of the tears doesn't matter, I reasoned. Tears move us on when we let go of what was, to make room for whatever will be. This could be exciting, I concluded.
Another turn of the stone revealed a miniature footprint. Suggesting I would have to walk the walk to reach my goal. Whoever said stones don't speak? I wondered. I just had a full conversation with this pebble in my palm.
What speaks to you today?
Things Remembered
My bicycle lock had the combination 11-37-15, with a second lock of 26-12-30. An elementary school friend lived at 1911 North 11th Street. At Girl Scout camp on the Mullet River I was forced to go to the nurse's tent daily to soak my feet in a pail of water made deep purple by a small pill called Potassium Permanganate. It was to prevent the spread of 'athletes foot' rampant that summer.
At 16 when I asked a classmate (never a friend) Bobby B., what he did on his newly acquired job, he responded, "I put the blue string down the center of sanitary napkins." It was not true and was only said to embarrass me in front of his fellow boy friends who guffawed nearby. They thought it was hilarious. I thought it was stupid. His attempt at embarrassment falling to the cracks in the sidewalk and disappearing like gutter water
At a small group gathering in my 20's, Dee N. served a potluck dish of lime jello with pineapple and a touch of horseradish. Radical. And I just had to have the recipe. I remember details of conversations, quotes whose authors have long been forgotten, looks on children's and/or animals faces in KODAK flashes of time.
All these and MORE are things I remember. And yet, I can't remember the author of the book I read and loved a week ago. Can't remember the exact date of my divorce. Can't remember how I celebrated milestone birthdays between the ages of 18 and 40. Can't remember whether I took my daily medications unless I use the marked dispenser designed for that purpose.
Isn't it interesting what things we remember and those which we don't?
What's up with that?
At 16 when I asked a classmate (never a friend) Bobby B., what he did on his newly acquired job, he responded, "I put the blue string down the center of sanitary napkins." It was not true and was only said to embarrass me in front of his fellow boy friends who guffawed nearby. They thought it was hilarious. I thought it was stupid. His attempt at embarrassment falling to the cracks in the sidewalk and disappearing like gutter water
At a small group gathering in my 20's, Dee N. served a potluck dish of lime jello with pineapple and a touch of horseradish. Radical. And I just had to have the recipe. I remember details of conversations, quotes whose authors have long been forgotten, looks on children's and/or animals faces in KODAK flashes of time.
All these and MORE are things I remember. And yet, I can't remember the author of the book I read and loved a week ago. Can't remember the exact date of my divorce. Can't remember how I celebrated milestone birthdays between the ages of 18 and 40. Can't remember whether I took my daily medications unless I use the marked dispenser designed for that purpose.
Isn't it interesting what things we remember and those which we don't?
What's up with that?
Friday, April 18, 2008
It Might Have Been
The saddest words of tongue or pen, are these four words -- IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN!
Being a born procrastinator, self-doubter, waiting for permission to live my life kind of person, I've frequently looked back on my path and been saddened by what might have been. If only I'd done things differently. . .
Since 2005 when I birthed the spirit and messages of my inner-self, Wisdom Walker, I have been more consistently walking my talk. But that walk has been taking me in circles. SHE is now challenging me to go public with my writings and perspectives and to let the seeds fall where they may.
With this blog birth I intend to replace the four saddest words with the two gladdest (it rhymes) words -- IT WAS!
As I share Wisdom Walker's voice on this site, your presence will be both welcomed and treasured.
And so it begins. . .
Being a born procrastinator, self-doubter, waiting for permission to live my life kind of person, I've frequently looked back on my path and been saddened by what might have been. If only I'd done things differently. . .
Since 2005 when I birthed the spirit and messages of my inner-self, Wisdom Walker, I have been more consistently walking my talk. But that walk has been taking me in circles. SHE is now challenging me to go public with my writings and perspectives and to let the seeds fall where they may.
With this blog birth I intend to replace the four saddest words with the two gladdest (it rhymes) words -- IT WAS!
As I share Wisdom Walker's voice on this site, your presence will be both welcomed and treasured.
And so it begins. . .
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