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?

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)

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.

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
*********

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. . .

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. . .

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?