Today I spent time with a good friend. She is more like a sister, soul-mate or ever partner in life than just a friend. She and I have always shared a common bond in life; it seems we always seem to be going through similar situations at the same times in our lives. I am short on cash, she is short on cash. She is having romantic troubles, I find myself lost in another one-sided relationship. Even when we are not sharing parallel experiences we always meet on common ground. We both believe that our lives are blessed with a sense of Divine Light and a Divine Love that not only follows us everywhere we go, but It leads us, It shines through us and It nurtures us every step of the way. And when we forget or neglect that guidance, we are always there to remind each other of It's presence.
So today, as I listen to all the wonderful things happening in her life I am inspired to watch her life grow and expand. I look forward to witnessing her Light expand and shine through front and center in her life. I anticipate the impact she will have on all her students and I celebrate her success today. I trust that everything is lining up for her in perfect form and that every step of the way she is will be greeted with the same respect she shares with others. I know that her passion for her work will open her up to all the right people that will not only share her passion but will nurture and support her along the way.
There are two women in m life that I share this special Spiritual-bond. They are both beautiful and they are both artists in their own right. And whats even greater is that they are both stepping into a new era in their lives. An era in which they will experience their personal power. They will shine in their creativity. And the will both continue to inspire me. I am grateful to share my life with them.
Congratulations to both of you. I am going to enjoy watching your new experiences unfold.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
My Second Grade Crush
Carrie was sassy, snotty, cruel, and arrogant; I loved her, she sat next to me in first grade. Her Dorothy Hammel haircut suit her well, she spent mornings before school training for ice skating competitions. I dreamed about her in the Olympics. I was jealous. None of the boys would tease her – they were afraid of her. She was strong, glamorous, determined and successful. Whether I loved her or just wanted to be her is still in question? Mine and Carrie’s was perhaps my first dysfunctional relationship.
I decided to do what every decent man would do. Flowers or chocolate, I just could not decide. There was no special holiday and it was no where near her birthday. I didn’t even know her birthday. I was a reasonable 6 year-old and looked over my finances; the chocolate and flowers would not work.
That night I consulted my therapist, Mom. She had answers to the dramatic dilemmas and she pulled through with the perfect solution for me to express my feelings within my financial constraints. One sheet of pink Kleenex, a piper cleaner a little work and she assured me that we would have a beautiful carnation in no time. These were household items; I did not even have to get chauffeured to the store. Things were looking up for my love and I.
Mom stocked a drawer full of art and craft supplies. She suggested we make a few trial samples together and then when I was ready she would leave me to create my masterpiece. We snipped, cut and taut with the diligence of Dr. Frankenstein and Egor. We puffed fluffed and coifed, after all my love life was at stake here. Finally, I was ready. I chose my materials wisely. Color and texture are essential to any good piece of art. I had to be sure. Soft pink tissue, a dark green pipe cleaner and an additional silk leaf to add that extra authenticity to my creation. I deliberated upon my tasks and set forth with fierce conviction to each step outlined by mom. The end result! What a sight. I was so proud and Mom was impressed with my work. I gave life to this creation. It was beautiful. I made it. Once Carrie laid here eyes on this she was certain to return my affection. Mom reveled in my excitement. My naïve ability to express affection without fear was probably quite refreshing to a mother of 4 and wife of a drinking man. I walked around the house with the flower practicing my presentational speech to Carrie.
“Carrie. We have been sitting side by side for quite some time and I think it is about time that we clear the air and define where this is leading. Truth is I may not be available for very much longer. There is a higher ratio of girls to boys in the second grade class. It is time we make a formal decision for our future. With that in mind I present to you this flower. I made specifically for you with intentions of love. Please accept this gift as a symbol of everlasting dedication to one another.”
Pleased with my rehearsal I lay the gift on my nightstand. The glow of the night-light illuminated the intricate tufts of tissue and subtle shades of pink. What a vision! I did not sleep very well. Tossing and turning with excitement and nerves for the upcoming exchange.
The noisy bus ride to school lasted forever. I daydreamed myself as a White Knight taking passage with a troop of circus players in hopes to return my fair maidens enchanted rose stolen by the barbarians of the north. Perhaps I unfairly placed the boisterous children on the bus in the role of circus players. A yammering group of psychotic prisoners may have been more appropriate. No one would spoil this precious event. No one would deprive my passion the opportunity to shine in the light of my love’s eyes.
The gift was safely stowed in my satchel and would remain there until the exact moment. . That moment when the planets align and the stars illuminate the sky to praise the forthcoming joy. That moment of complete tranquility in the world. That moment that God lays his hand on my soul and blesses the sanctity of my love. That moment when the conductor strikes up the orchestra filling the classroom with overtures of love. That moment when Carrie smiles and says…
It’s beautiful – You are my one and only White Knight!
I arrived at my desk. Carrie was scrambling for her workbook – we were analyzing the letter “L” at that point in our studies. I was rehearsed. I was ready. I reached into my bag, pulled out the paper flower and extended it out to Carrie, took a deep breath and said...And said!
Oh shit! What was I going to say to her? I was so nervous I forgot my whole speech. Suddenly I felt the words working their way to my lips. Yes! Yes! Here they are! It’s coming. I think its coming! Carrie noticed me facing her. She sat motionless with my image in her peripheral, it was obvious she knew something was up and my deadening stare definitely concerned her.
“Here!” I blurted out. “I made you this! Here!”
Oy, I sounded so dumb! What the hell was that? You idiot! You blew it all at once. My obsession over the perfect presentation culminated in "HERE! I MADE YOU THIS!" What a shmuck I was.
“What’s this?” Carrie snapped.
“It’s for you!”
“I know how to make those!” And she casually turned away.
“But I made it for you: Take it.”
She hesitated, rolled her eyes, grabbed it, gave me a quick toothless grin, dropped it in her desk and slammed the desktop shut smashing my perfect creation. She didn’t even say thanks! I sat beside her all day wanting to open up her desk and take back the flower.
That night Mom helped me drown my sorrow with a frozen fudgical. I explained to Mom that she didn’t even say thanks. By our second round of fudgicals I started feeling better.
“Don’t worry sweetie. Some day, some girl is gonna fuss over your beauty marks on those cute cheeks of yours and you will both be very happy.”
Happy like her and Dad? I thought to myself. Was she happy?
I fell asleep that night nursing my first heart break and drifting into the peaceful dreams of adolescence. As I began that shift from wake to deep sleep my dog, Toby barked and jumped from my bed as my bedroom door swung open from Mom’s entry. Something was wrong, she did not look like the kind compassionate mom that I just devoured chocolate treats with. She swiftly gathered me up from my bed and we headed out the door through the hallway and out to the car. Everything was moving so fast. I was floating through the air and confused as to how I was traveling through the hallway without taking one step from my bed.
“We’re going to get your father!”
“But I don’t have my shoes”
As she placed me in the passenger seat of her car she hesitated, perplexed. I felt like I could actually see her mind questioning her actions. In a huff she shut the car door and left me alone in the garage only to appear a few moments later carrying my sneakers. I was still half asleep as she dropped them in my lap, shut her door and started the car. She was on one of her missions I was just uncertain what this one was about. I scanned my memory in hopes to recall what misdeed I had participated in the past week to suborn such behavior. Slipping my sneakers onto my bare feet it was only a few moments before we arrived at a small neighborhood bar. Mom pulled up alongside of Dad’s car. Suddenly her mission became clear. This trip was not about me. She picked me up in her arms and headed toward the door of the tiny building. My blue and white pajamas glistened as we made our way near the neon sign titled Miller. The place was dark and quiet and there were about 10 adult men randomly sitting around the bar. Large glasses, some full of beer others with other dark colored liquids that I recognized from the liquor cabinet at home. Dad sat alone. He did not seem surprised to see us. It was as if he was expecting us to show up. I guess he knew his wife was just crazy enough to pull her 6-year old son out of bed to come and find him drowning in a mug of beer. Or maybe he was just so drunk that he was in a walking coma. But Mom gently sat me on the bar stool next to Dad and said...
“Here, you take care of him tonight. He is your son too.”
Then she left.
Dad asked. “You want a soda?”
“Sure.” I yawned.
He gestured to the bartender. I drank my Pepsi and wondered if Dad ever made Mom a flower.
Carrie was sassy, snotty, cruel, and arrogant; I loved her, she sat next to me in first grade. Her Dorothy Hammel haircut suit her well, she spent mornings before school training for ice skating competitions. I dreamed about her in the Olympics. I was jealous. None of the boys would tease her – they were afraid of her. She was strong, glamorous, determined and successful. Whether I loved her or just wanted to be her is still in question? Mine and Carrie’s was perhaps my first dysfunctional relationship.
I decided to do what every decent man would do. Flowers or chocolate, I just could not decide. There was no special holiday and it was no where near her birthday. I didn’t even know her birthday. I was a reasonable 6 year-old and looked over my finances; the chocolate and flowers would not work.
That night I consulted my therapist, Mom. She had answers to the dramatic dilemmas and she pulled through with the perfect solution for me to express my feelings within my financial constraints. One sheet of pink Kleenex, a piper cleaner a little work and she assured me that we would have a beautiful carnation in no time. These were household items; I did not even have to get chauffeured to the store. Things were looking up for my love and I.
Mom stocked a drawer full of art and craft supplies. She suggested we make a few trial samples together and then when I was ready she would leave me to create my masterpiece. We snipped, cut and taut with the diligence of Dr. Frankenstein and Egor. We puffed fluffed and coifed, after all my love life was at stake here. Finally, I was ready. I chose my materials wisely. Color and texture are essential to any good piece of art. I had to be sure. Soft pink tissue, a dark green pipe cleaner and an additional silk leaf to add that extra authenticity to my creation. I deliberated upon my tasks and set forth with fierce conviction to each step outlined by mom. The end result! What a sight. I was so proud and Mom was impressed with my work. I gave life to this creation. It was beautiful. I made it. Once Carrie laid here eyes on this she was certain to return my affection. Mom reveled in my excitement. My naïve ability to express affection without fear was probably quite refreshing to a mother of 4 and wife of a drinking man. I walked around the house with the flower practicing my presentational speech to Carrie.
“Carrie. We have been sitting side by side for quite some time and I think it is about time that we clear the air and define where this is leading. Truth is I may not be available for very much longer. There is a higher ratio of girls to boys in the second grade class. It is time we make a formal decision for our future. With that in mind I present to you this flower. I made specifically for you with intentions of love. Please accept this gift as a symbol of everlasting dedication to one another.”
Pleased with my rehearsal I lay the gift on my nightstand. The glow of the night-light illuminated the intricate tufts of tissue and subtle shades of pink. What a vision! I did not sleep very well. Tossing and turning with excitement and nerves for the upcoming exchange.
The noisy bus ride to school lasted forever. I daydreamed myself as a White Knight taking passage with a troop of circus players in hopes to return my fair maidens enchanted rose stolen by the barbarians of the north. Perhaps I unfairly placed the boisterous children on the bus in the role of circus players. A yammering group of psychotic prisoners may have been more appropriate. No one would spoil this precious event. No one would deprive my passion the opportunity to shine in the light of my love’s eyes.
The gift was safely stowed in my satchel and would remain there until the exact moment. . That moment when the planets align and the stars illuminate the sky to praise the forthcoming joy. That moment of complete tranquility in the world. That moment that God lays his hand on my soul and blesses the sanctity of my love. That moment when the conductor strikes up the orchestra filling the classroom with overtures of love. That moment when Carrie smiles and says…
It’s beautiful – You are my one and only White Knight!
I arrived at my desk. Carrie was scrambling for her workbook – we were analyzing the letter “L” at that point in our studies. I was rehearsed. I was ready. I reached into my bag, pulled out the paper flower and extended it out to Carrie, took a deep breath and said...And said!
Oh shit! What was I going to say to her? I was so nervous I forgot my whole speech. Suddenly I felt the words working their way to my lips. Yes! Yes! Here they are! It’s coming. I think its coming! Carrie noticed me facing her. She sat motionless with my image in her peripheral, it was obvious she knew something was up and my deadening stare definitely concerned her.
“Here!” I blurted out. “I made you this! Here!”
Oy, I sounded so dumb! What the hell was that? You idiot! You blew it all at once. My obsession over the perfect presentation culminated in "HERE! I MADE YOU THIS!" What a shmuck I was.
“What’s this?” Carrie snapped.
“It’s for you!”
“I know how to make those!” And she casually turned away.
“But I made it for you: Take it.”
She hesitated, rolled her eyes, grabbed it, gave me a quick toothless grin, dropped it in her desk and slammed the desktop shut smashing my perfect creation. She didn’t even say thanks! I sat beside her all day wanting to open up her desk and take back the flower.
That night Mom helped me drown my sorrow with a frozen fudgical. I explained to Mom that she didn’t even say thanks. By our second round of fudgicals I started feeling better.
“Don’t worry sweetie. Some day, some girl is gonna fuss over your beauty marks on those cute cheeks of yours and you will both be very happy.”
Happy like her and Dad? I thought to myself. Was she happy?
I fell asleep that night nursing my first heart break and drifting into the peaceful dreams of adolescence. As I began that shift from wake to deep sleep my dog, Toby barked and jumped from my bed as my bedroom door swung open from Mom’s entry. Something was wrong, she did not look like the kind compassionate mom that I just devoured chocolate treats with. She swiftly gathered me up from my bed and we headed out the door through the hallway and out to the car. Everything was moving so fast. I was floating through the air and confused as to how I was traveling through the hallway without taking one step from my bed.
“We’re going to get your father!”
“But I don’t have my shoes”
As she placed me in the passenger seat of her car she hesitated, perplexed. I felt like I could actually see her mind questioning her actions. In a huff she shut the car door and left me alone in the garage only to appear a few moments later carrying my sneakers. I was still half asleep as she dropped them in my lap, shut her door and started the car. She was on one of her missions I was just uncertain what this one was about. I scanned my memory in hopes to recall what misdeed I had participated in the past week to suborn such behavior. Slipping my sneakers onto my bare feet it was only a few moments before we arrived at a small neighborhood bar. Mom pulled up alongside of Dad’s car. Suddenly her mission became clear. This trip was not about me. She picked me up in her arms and headed toward the door of the tiny building. My blue and white pajamas glistened as we made our way near the neon sign titled Miller. The place was dark and quiet and there were about 10 adult men randomly sitting around the bar. Large glasses, some full of beer others with other dark colored liquids that I recognized from the liquor cabinet at home. Dad sat alone. He did not seem surprised to see us. It was as if he was expecting us to show up. I guess he knew his wife was just crazy enough to pull her 6-year old son out of bed to come and find him drowning in a mug of beer. Or maybe he was just so drunk that he was in a walking coma. But Mom gently sat me on the bar stool next to Dad and said...
“Here, you take care of him tonight. He is your son too.”
Then she left.
Dad asked. “You want a soda?”
“Sure.” I yawned.
He gestured to the bartender. I drank my Pepsi and wondered if Dad ever made Mom a flower.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Three dreams manifest, transition but will never be lost...
As I child I dreamed of being a famous entertainer. I would stand on the front of my mother’s vacuum using the handle as a pretend microphone and sometimes lip-sync and sometimes belt out my own tune. I begin to dream even bigger when the likes of Michael Jackson hit charts and I watched this cute young boy become an American Icon. He served as a great catalyst for me to dream my own dreams, and I honor him for that.
Then of course there was watching Charlie’s Angels. There beauty and grace under pressure and their ability to pull it all together and still look fabulous catapulted my dreams of becoming an actor. Farrah was so beautiful and I still remember that classic photo I had of her taped to my bedroom wall with her feathered hair and beautiful eyes lulling me to sleep at night. She served as a protector for me during troubled adolescent times. Somehow her beauty and strength transcended the screen and I am grateful for her support.
Now we all have dreams of winning the lottery. But to take it one step further I think we all can relate to the joy and excitement and watching someone win the lottery. Of course I would embrace winning the lottery and having Ed McMahan knock on my door was always in the back of my mind. But for Ed, it seemed he was more consumed with laughter and joy than anyone I know in the limelight. He laughed with Johnny Carson and he played with some of the most famous celebrities. And he did it all just by being, himself; a fun-loving man with a great sense of humor. Thank you, Mr. McMahan for being a light in this world.
It is amazing how three people that symbolize such basic American dreams of success, joy and kindness have all transitioned within such a short period of time. Today I reflect on their genius, their talent, their humor and their inspirational and imperfect lives.
As I child I dreamed of being a famous entertainer. I would stand on the front of my mother’s vacuum using the handle as a pretend microphone and sometimes lip-sync and sometimes belt out my own tune. I begin to dream even bigger when the likes of Michael Jackson hit charts and I watched this cute young boy become an American Icon. He served as a great catalyst for me to dream my own dreams, and I honor him for that.
Then of course there was watching Charlie’s Angels. There beauty and grace under pressure and their ability to pull it all together and still look fabulous catapulted my dreams of becoming an actor. Farrah was so beautiful and I still remember that classic photo I had of her taped to my bedroom wall with her feathered hair and beautiful eyes lulling me to sleep at night. She served as a protector for me during troubled adolescent times. Somehow her beauty and strength transcended the screen and I am grateful for her support.
Now we all have dreams of winning the lottery. But to take it one step further I think we all can relate to the joy and excitement and watching someone win the lottery. Of course I would embrace winning the lottery and having Ed McMahan knock on my door was always in the back of my mind. But for Ed, it seemed he was more consumed with laughter and joy than anyone I know in the limelight. He laughed with Johnny Carson and he played with some of the most famous celebrities. And he did it all just by being, himself; a fun-loving man with a great sense of humor. Thank you, Mr. McMahan for being a light in this world.
It is amazing how three people that symbolize such basic American dreams of success, joy and kindness have all transitioned within such a short period of time. Today I reflect on their genius, their talent, their humor and their inspirational and imperfect lives.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Omni-what?
There are so many cliché sayings in this world, so many philosophies and religions to learn from but what happens when they all seem to fall short in your eyes? What happens when the answers I seek I no longer find in a book, from a guru or from some deity in the sky? When do I start looking within for my intuitive guidance and letting the prefabricated deities of history do what they do best; sleep in everlasting peace.
In catholic school I learned that God was omnipresent. The concept of God watching over me all the time, judging me, supporting me, criticizing me, smiling or even laughing at me gave me the creeps. I mean why did this all-knowing Being care if I was playing in the creek with the salamanders or helping my mom in the garden? But the nuns instilled a certain amount of fear in us that God was not just watching over us to protect us but to be sure that we were doing the “right” thing. In other words, God wanted to catch me in a sin so he could keep score and give me the proper punishment for my sins. But in the same breath the nuns told me that God loved me unconditionally and that as a human being I could never understand the depth of that unconditional love.
Even as a small child something seemed disconnected in the idea of an unconditionally love God. that judges me. If God loved me unconditionally and always watched over me to see if I was sinning, than why wouldn’t he instantly forgive me for my sins. Furthermore, why would he judge me in the first place? Unconditional love is after all, Unconditional. Without conditions, meaning that no matter what you do I still love you, right? And why would a loving God or person for that matter want to smite me or banish me to the bowels of eternal hell and damnation if he truly did love me. Doesn’t love by definition involve embracing someone for whom and what they are? Doesn’t love supersede all transgression and affirm life with a wholesome hug? Isn’t love an expression of caring and nurturing?
But last year I was taking a metaphysics class and I learned a different definition of omnipresent. This definition shifted my entire awareness of God, love and life. The direct translation of omnipresent in reference to God means that…
ALL OF GOD IS PRESENT IN ALL THINGS ALL THE TIME.
Now that has a completely different tone because if God is in all things, than God must be in me too, right? And if God is in all things that means God is not only watching but participating in EVERYTHING! Which leads me to a very strong conclusion; perhaps the nuns were right in one regard. God is unconditional love. To love something unconditionally is to immerse oneself in it. To love unconditionally is to not only embrace but celebrate all aspects of it. And if all of God is truly in all things at all times not only does it give me a headache trying to figure the mystery of how that can be but it also gives me peace of mind knowing that God is not watching over me like a disciplinarian, but working, playing, walking, laughing, crying and experiencing life through and with me all the time. To be by someone’s side no matter what, now that is unconditional love.
Knowing the true definition of omnipresent brings me back to my initial question…
What happens when the answers I seek I no longer find in a book, from a guru or from some deity in the sky? When do I start looking within for my intuitive guidance...?
I guess the time is now. Perhaps today I will go exploring with the understanding that all of God is in all of things all the time. I am bound to have a good time with the Creator of everything giving the tour.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Sometimes it is so easy to think the world is conspiring against me. Traffic, bills, the slow cashier at the grocery store or the inaudible customer service representative from Comcast; each one seems to swift in the blow of the uncontrollable circumstances in my life that often times seem to work against me. But are they really working against me? Or are they road signs to awaken me to a better understanding of a daily Spiritual journey.
Don’t get me wrong, I have my bad days and many of my friends can testify that I suffer from depression and anxiety at times. But one thing I have come to understand through it all. It is important for me to understand that my PERCEPTION of the circumstances around me is where the true conspiracy lies.
Many religions and spiritual teachings discuss the need for prayer and meditation; taking time out from hectic days to breathe and relax, center ourselves to find our inner peace. All this is a good thing. But I am dedicated to taking it one step further. I intend to focus on my inner-connectedness consistently throughout my days?
For example. Imagine I hop in the car for a trip to the grocery store. On my way there I try to tune into some good music on the radio but every station seems to have some loud obnoxious car dealership commercial or a DJ that likes to hear themselves speak more than play music. This could be irritating…
“God-demit! These stations suck!” Might be a reaction I could have…..
Or this could be an opportunity to drive in silence, roll down my windows and listen to the melodic sounds of the vibrant city around me. The birds chirping through the rustling leaves of the trees I just drove passed. The forceful breeze of the large truck that just sped by, the clicking of the cars turn signal as I round the corner to witness a whole new environment of sites and sounds on the road. The screeching wheels of the driver that slammed his brakes, the honking horn from the driver that he nearly slammed into and never neglect the rhythmic tones of the homeless wanderer talking aloud to himself in great detail with no concern of anyone listening in on his vocal expedition; all sounds waiting to be heard but rarely honored and simply noticed for what they are; the melodies of life.
So now I am in the groove of listening to the world around me and suddenly I notice that I have caught every single red light in my path. This could have been very irritating but the sounds of the world around me kept my mind so occupied that I really had no need to feel the irritation.
Besides, all the red lights gave me an opportunity to explore my physical body’s relationship to the vehicle I drive. I began to focus on the texture and temperature of the steering wheel. I mindfully sensed the pressure used to engage the brake pedal to come to a full stop. And then the alternating release of pressure it took and the motion of my foot, calf and leg to transition from the brake to the accelerator. Before long I began to enjoy the process of stopping at red lights. It gave me the time to embrace a new perspective on how my body works in conjunction with this incredible machine that gets me from place to place.
Finally, I arrive at the grocery store and am greeted with the cool air of the produce section and I continue to explore the sounds around, sensations and textures and colors as my body is moving throughout the store; the weight of the cart that I push and the shift in power you must exert as I fill the cart with different items.
Once I arrive at the cashier I find myself so enmeshed in this personal of observation and exploration that I have no other reaction to this new individual entering my world but to give her a big smile. I notice the subtle differences her in hair colors and the darkness of her bold eyes. I smile at her name badge and call her by name. “Thank you so much, Barb” And she smiles back at me and wishes me a good day. As I walk away, still smiling I wonder if she too has experienced all the eccentricies and wonderful details of life that I perceive.
I guess that does not matter what she perceived. I just enjoyed sharing a smile with her.
A wise friend once told me to try and see things “differently”. Today I chose to explore the world like it is brand spanking new!
Don’t get me wrong, I have my bad days and many of my friends can testify that I suffer from depression and anxiety at times. But one thing I have come to understand through it all. It is important for me to understand that my PERCEPTION of the circumstances around me is where the true conspiracy lies.
Many religions and spiritual teachings discuss the need for prayer and meditation; taking time out from hectic days to breathe and relax, center ourselves to find our inner peace. All this is a good thing. But I am dedicated to taking it one step further. I intend to focus on my inner-connectedness consistently throughout my days?
For example. Imagine I hop in the car for a trip to the grocery store. On my way there I try to tune into some good music on the radio but every station seems to have some loud obnoxious car dealership commercial or a DJ that likes to hear themselves speak more than play music. This could be irritating…
“God-demit! These stations suck!” Might be a reaction I could have…..
Or this could be an opportunity to drive in silence, roll down my windows and listen to the melodic sounds of the vibrant city around me. The birds chirping through the rustling leaves of the trees I just drove passed. The forceful breeze of the large truck that just sped by, the clicking of the cars turn signal as I round the corner to witness a whole new environment of sites and sounds on the road. The screeching wheels of the driver that slammed his brakes, the honking horn from the driver that he nearly slammed into and never neglect the rhythmic tones of the homeless wanderer talking aloud to himself in great detail with no concern of anyone listening in on his vocal expedition; all sounds waiting to be heard but rarely honored and simply noticed for what they are; the melodies of life.
So now I am in the groove of listening to the world around me and suddenly I notice that I have caught every single red light in my path. This could have been very irritating but the sounds of the world around me kept my mind so occupied that I really had no need to feel the irritation.
Besides, all the red lights gave me an opportunity to explore my physical body’s relationship to the vehicle I drive. I began to focus on the texture and temperature of the steering wheel. I mindfully sensed the pressure used to engage the brake pedal to come to a full stop. And then the alternating release of pressure it took and the motion of my foot, calf and leg to transition from the brake to the accelerator. Before long I began to enjoy the process of stopping at red lights. It gave me the time to embrace a new perspective on how my body works in conjunction with this incredible machine that gets me from place to place.
Finally, I arrive at the grocery store and am greeted with the cool air of the produce section and I continue to explore the sounds around, sensations and textures and colors as my body is moving throughout the store; the weight of the cart that I push and the shift in power you must exert as I fill the cart with different items.
Once I arrive at the cashier I find myself so enmeshed in this personal of observation and exploration that I have no other reaction to this new individual entering my world but to give her a big smile. I notice the subtle differences her in hair colors and the darkness of her bold eyes. I smile at her name badge and call her by name. “Thank you so much, Barb” And she smiles back at me and wishes me a good day. As I walk away, still smiling I wonder if she too has experienced all the eccentricies and wonderful details of life that I perceive.
I guess that does not matter what she perceived. I just enjoyed sharing a smile with her.
A wise friend once told me to try and see things “differently”. Today I chose to explore the world like it is brand spanking new!
Monday, June 22, 2009
When is it okay to just be content with life? I mean as an American, as a Spiritual Being that believes life is a journey of awakenings; when does it become okay for me to just be content with my life and no longer dream the "big" dreams?
At one point in my life I wished so intensely to be a famous actor. I wanted it so bad that I would literally get stomach aches just daydreaming about all the different roles I could play. I would get anxious about all the philanthropic things I could do with all my money and my influence as a public figure.
But today, there is a large portion of me that just feels content to rent out the basement of this house, do some yard work, hang out with friends and try out new recipes in my kitchen. I no longer dream the "big" dreams. I think about paying off debt and what my next meal will be. I think about when I will see my friends again and when my next trip to see my family will be. I no longer seek the answers to my future. I do my best to listen to my internal voice each and every day and stay in the present moment; that feels good to me. But, there is this small voice inside me that questions my current state of content.
Am I depressed? Am I so overwhelmed by the circumstances of health and finances that I lost my will to dream the "big" dreams? Have I just given up altogether and resigned to live a basic common life? Or am I truly happy?
I know I am grateful. I am grateful for the two furry little felines that share my home and keep me company. I am grateful for friends and family. I am grateful for this beautiful place I call home and I am grateful that I am in a position to rest and take good care of myself without the stress or fatigue of a 9 to 5 job.
But my gratitude does not dismiss the fact that I question the difference between being content and being happy. And even further, my content seems very close to the state of apathy. One thing I do know. I have lived a long life in my 37 years living. Much of which has been highlighted with some form of physical or mental condition but through it all I think I have found a certain strength in knowing that my happiness lies within me. My joy expresses in the relationships I share. My content rests in knowing that every day I try think the most positive uplifting thoughts about life that I possibly can even when those thoughts are not necessarily the most productive; they are still the best I can do at the moment.
So have I lost my ability to dream? I hope not? Have my dreams been resting on the back burner for awhile? Definitely. But I will not discount the possibility that some day I might begin to muse again. Someday I might begin to feel a greater sense of joy that moves beyond contentment and into excitement. Someday I might begin to live out loud again and move beyond this beautiful basement apartment I rent. Someday I might desire to live above ground with more sunshine, a better view and even a career; a dream of my own.
For now, I wrestle with this notion of being content.
At one point in my life I wished so intensely to be a famous actor. I wanted it so bad that I would literally get stomach aches just daydreaming about all the different roles I could play. I would get anxious about all the philanthropic things I could do with all my money and my influence as a public figure.
But today, there is a large portion of me that just feels content to rent out the basement of this house, do some yard work, hang out with friends and try out new recipes in my kitchen. I no longer dream the "big" dreams. I think about paying off debt and what my next meal will be. I think about when I will see my friends again and when my next trip to see my family will be. I no longer seek the answers to my future. I do my best to listen to my internal voice each and every day and stay in the present moment; that feels good to me. But, there is this small voice inside me that questions my current state of content.
Am I depressed? Am I so overwhelmed by the circumstances of health and finances that I lost my will to dream the "big" dreams? Have I just given up altogether and resigned to live a basic common life? Or am I truly happy?
I know I am grateful. I am grateful for the two furry little felines that share my home and keep me company. I am grateful for friends and family. I am grateful for this beautiful place I call home and I am grateful that I am in a position to rest and take good care of myself without the stress or fatigue of a 9 to 5 job.
But my gratitude does not dismiss the fact that I question the difference between being content and being happy. And even further, my content seems very close to the state of apathy. One thing I do know. I have lived a long life in my 37 years living. Much of which has been highlighted with some form of physical or mental condition but through it all I think I have found a certain strength in knowing that my happiness lies within me. My joy expresses in the relationships I share. My content rests in knowing that every day I try think the most positive uplifting thoughts about life that I possibly can even when those thoughts are not necessarily the most productive; they are still the best I can do at the moment.
So have I lost my ability to dream? I hope not? Have my dreams been resting on the back burner for awhile? Definitely. But I will not discount the possibility that some day I might begin to muse again. Someday I might begin to feel a greater sense of joy that moves beyond contentment and into excitement. Someday I might begin to live out loud again and move beyond this beautiful basement apartment I rent. Someday I might desire to live above ground with more sunshine, a better view and even a career; a dream of my own.
For now, I wrestle with this notion of being content.
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