New Experiences. . . Meditation, A Friend and My Spirit

Yesterday I attended my first ever meditation retreat. The retreat was scheduled from 10:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. I hung in there until 2:30 p.m., which was very good I thought for someone who's never meditated longer then about 10 minutes at one time. I had a little difficulty following the rules - like the "no talking" rule and the "donation recommendation of $95.00 - $35.00" rule and the "don't look at anyone else" rule and the "don't leave early but if you do let the instructor know so she won't worry about you" rule - but other than that, I think I stayed in bounds most of the day. Oh, one more thing. Though this wasn't on the official rule list, it probably should have been and had it been, I would have broken one more. The "don't steal" rule. Yeah, I know - lame, right? I couldn't help myself. There were these really beautiful rocks lining the church flower gardens that I spotted on my first walking meditation, and I just had to have one. Ok, make that two. Wouldn't have happened had I not been following the "keep your eyes down" rule, cause I wouldn't have seen them otherwise. So it's really the rule maker's fault that I was tempted in the first place! They (the rocks) just called out to me. "Hey you, Ms. Meditation Girl, I'd make a really nice souvenir". So I brought them home with me and set them on my dresser. Wonder if I'll ever pick them up or even notice them in the future? Hmm. Maybe I shouldn't have stolen the rocks. I probably just caused myself a lot of bad karma. And for what? Rocks that will do nothing more than collect dust on my dresser. Yeah, probably a bad idea. Note to self: if you ever go back to the Unity Temple, return the stolen rocks! So what did I get out of this experience? I went for two reasons: 1st because a friend asked me to go and 2nd because I was hoping to find or connect with my spirit. For those of you who haven't read my earlier blog entries, I'm on this mission of sorts - to find my spirit and not let thoughts control my life. Anyway, I was really hoping to get plugged in - connected - to spirit. Sadly, I must confess that it didn't happen. It wasn't because I didn't try. I did! I tried my heart out! I did sitting meditations. I did walking meditations (that's when I stole the rocks). I did eating meditation. I did moving meditation (which was really lame by the way, because the leader just made shit up as she went along and got me all off balance). And last but not least, I did guided meditations. While I didn't find my spirit (which is really a disappointment to me), I'm glad I went because of reason number 1. My friend invited me. I showed up. I accepted an invitation and then I followed through. I didn't find 50 reasons to cancel at the last minute, which is progress for me. I didn't allow my negative thoughts to talk me out of going at the very last minute. Oh sure, they were there (though not as loud as usual), but I didn't let them control me. And I'm so glad I didn't. I enjoyed being with my friend and her husband. We had coffee together in the morning, I did my walking meditation with my friend (that's when we broke the "no talking" rule). We ate lunch together (in silence - wink/wink). And they drove me back to my car when the three of us skipped out early (breaking yet another rule). This shared experience with a (new) friend was simple enough, but it was so powerful at the same time. I can't say why exactly. It just was. She felt it too. She told me - more than once - that she was so glad I came. And I told her that we needed to do more activities together. She agreed! I've spent so many years lonely because I have a difficult time connecting with people. I've always just assumed that folks wouldn't like me if they got to know me very well. Because of that, I've spent way too much time by myself. . . lonely. But this new person in my life seems to like me just fine. She hung out with me for more than a minute and she didn't run away. She seems to enjoy my company and I know I enjoy hers. Hey. Wait a damn minute. Maybe spirit did reveal itself to me. Maybe I just didn't realize it in the moment. Maybe me connecting with spirit wasn't in the meditation. Maybe, just maybe, it was about my friend. Maybe I connected with my own spirit as I spent time with a friend bonding. It was in my time with her that I felt "whole". Don't get me wrong. The meditation was nice for what it was - relaxing. I didn't feel enlightened or anything. But the time spent with my friend - just hanging out - just being with one another - was when I felt most alive. Yeah, maybe spirit did reveal itself to me. And now that I've seen it, felt it, I know I like it and want more of it. It was a good day. Thank you spirit. Thank you for being there and for showing up, even if I wasn't paying attention. . . in the moment.

Memories

What did I do on May 15, 1966 or August 28, 1971 or October 2, 1976 or January 11, 1983 or March 1, 1989 or April 20, 1994 or June 9, 1999 or July 19, 2006 or yesterday for that matter? Heck if I know. Seriously. I have no idea what happened on most days of my life. When I think back, very few dates and the associated events of those dates are present in my memory bank. Sure I have memories - both long and short term - but I can't really put an event with a date unless it was some monumental something - like the day I was born. February 12, 1961. The date of my birth. Actually, I don't remember my birth at all. I'm told that's the day I was born. So, actually, I don't remember what I was doing on February 12, 1961, I just remember what my parents told me I was doing that day. . . getting birthed. Driving down the road today, I heard an interview with Marilu Henner. Remember her? Actress who played in the television sitcom, Taxi. Do I remember the dates that Taxi aired? Heck no! But Marilu does. The interview she gave today was all about this rare condition she has called "Superior Autobiographical Memory". The condition enables her to remember what she did on every single day of her life. I didn't hear the interview from the beginning, so perhaps she can't remember every single day - like the first 1460 (that's the first 4 years of her life for those of you who don't have a calculator). But other than that, other then the first few years of her life, you give her a date - any date at all - and she can tell you exactly where she was and what she was doing. Amazing! As I listened to the interview, I thought back over my own life and I tried to remember dates of really important stuff - like where I was when I turned 16, what day of the week it was the day I turned 21, what date I graduated from high school, what day I voted for the very first time, what day my husband proposed to me, etc. Sadly, I couldn't. I couldn't remember any of it. I wished someone had told me when I was 5 to start writing everything down. Make a note of every day of your life. Record where you were and what you did. It's your life! What could be more important than that? If you weren't blessed with Superior Autobiographical Memory, like Marilu was, there is no other way that I am aware of to remember every day of your life. What better way to realize the value of your life then to be able to remember it - all of it. As I reflect back on my life, I remember lots of really good stuff. I remember my little brother not being there one day and suddenly appearing - like magic the next. He was my baby. Oh how I loved that lil bundle of joy. Don't recall the day he came home from the hospital, but I sure remember the feeling I felt. I remember the perceived pain of losing my first baby tooth. Can't recall how old I was, but I remember the fear. I was scared to death that losing that tooth would be the equivalent of losing an entire leg or arm. I don't remember losing my other baby teeth. . . probably because the pain of the first wasn't nearly as bad as I had convinced myself it would be. I remember having the mumps. Ouch! Now that was painful. Thought I had big ol' globs of oatmeal stuck in my throat. I don't know what day it started or what day it ended. I don't remember how old I was. But I sure remember the feeling, and more than that, I remember the love of my mother as she tried to comfort me. I remember my kindergarden teacher, Mrs. See. She was born in Japan and I thought she was the most beautiful non-white person I had ever laid my eyes on. And she was super cool! She brought a tadpole to our classroom one day and promised us all that it would soon become a frog. We checked the little tadpole's makeshift pond every day until finally one day it happened. The tadpole was gone and in its place was a feisty lil frog. Sure wish I could remember the date that happened. My first experience with nature; at least the first I can recall. I remember kissing a boy for the very first time. Lee. Oh my he was handsome, or so my seven year old mind believed. I had quite the crush. I tricked him into joining me down in the cellar one afternoon after school. And there we were - just me and him - sitting in that dark, damp, private place. The anticipation was almost more then I could stand. And then I did it. I reached right over and planted a big ol' sloppy kiss right on his beautiful lips. He was so shocked he bolted - ran up the stairs and right out the door. Like the wind. Here one minute, gone the next. Don't remember the date, but I'll never forget the anticipation of that first kiss or my embarrassment afterwards. Square dancing for the very first time is something else I'll never forget. I was in the 7th grade. I loved it! All my classmates seemed to hate it so I had to pretend I hated it too. Couldn't have my judgmental classmates thinking me so nerdy as to love something as "gross" as square dancing. After all, girls and boys had to touch in order to do the dance. And who in the 7th grade can admit to wanting to touch a member of the opposite sex, right? Right! So I pretended I hated it when all the while I loved it. Loved everything about it. The music, the funny looking costumes, the caller, the dose doing, but most of all. . . the boys! Gosh, how I now wish I could remember the day I experienced square dancing for the very first time. It's when I became a girl I think. When I fully realized for perhaps the very first time that boys and girls were not alike. What a happy day it was sitting on my Auntie Pearl's lap and learning the hand movements to "this is the church and this is the steeple and open the door and there's all the people". Oh how I loved my Auntie Pearl. She made every moment fun, but more than that, she showed me what unconditional love was. I'm so sorry Auntie Pearl that I don't remember the date you taught me about church and steeples and people. More than that, I'm sorry I don't remember the day you passed away. The day you died was the day I felt the pain of loss for the very first time. I can't remember if it was a Monday or Tuesday or Saturday or Sunday. I don't know if it was in March or July or August or December. Was it summer or spring? I really don't know. Oh how I wish I had written it down. You mattered to me more than any other person ever did. And I didn't write it down. I didn't take the time. I'm so sorry. I just didn't realize. So many things - good and bad - happened to me after my Auntie Pearl passed away. Most events I can recall, I think, but I don't know what day they happened. In most instances, I can't even tell you what month or year it was. My beautiful husband married me on April 22, 2011, one of the happiest days of my life. Will I ever forget that day? It was Good Friday 2011 at 1:30 p.m. at the Platte County Courthouse. Our closest friends and family joined us as we exchanged our vows and promised to love one another forever. It is unconceivable to me that I could ever forget a day full of so much love. . . so much emotion. But as I sit here looking back at my life and realize just how many important dates I have forgotten, I fear that it could happen. So I have done the only thing I (now) know to do. I've written it down. Forever, I can look back at this blog entry and forever I can know exactly what day and time I married my very best friend.

Who Wants to be Exceptional? I do, I do!

How do I get from "here", my marginal life, to "there", my exceptional life? Don't we humans have all the same stuff? Muscles, bones, organs, blood, body, mind, spirit? If so, then why is it that some folks live a really exceptional life while others - like me - live a marginal one? What sets us apart? Is my chemistry, my essence, the stuff of which I'm made, all that different from say a Queen Noor, Sandra Day O'Connor, Gloria Steinem, Ann Richards, Michelle Obama, NeNe Leakes, Mother Teresa, Oprah Winfrey, Michael Moore, Albert Einstein, Warren Buffett, Abe Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., John Grisham, Bethenny Frankel, Rosa Parks, Annie Leibovitz, Harper Lee, Billy Graham, Gandhi or even the Pope? Why did these folks and so many others like them reach their full potential, their individual exceptional life, and why can't I? Or maybe I should ask, since I ain't dead yet, "why haven't I"? What sets us apart? What do they have that I don't have? Anything? Under a microscope, would a scientist be able to see any difference between one of these folks and me? Probably not. Strip it all down and we're - every single one of us - just a bunch of cells, right? So what got them there - what was the wind beneath their wings - what motivated them, what propelled them, what made them know they could? Was it fear? Did fear of failure give them the strength they needed to get "there"? Was it desire? Would they rather have died trying than never to have tried at all? Was it fate? Would they have reached their exceptional lives regardless of what they did or did not do? Hmm. I can't believe it was fear. Fear does not produce desirable outcomes - it keeps us frozen - unable to move toward our goals. As for desire? Yeah, I don't really buy that one either. Desire is the type of thing that comes and goes and loses its appeal after awhile. How 'bout fate? Was Michelle Obama fated to be the first African American First Lady while Jane Doe was fated to be a high school drop out standing in a welfare line because not even the local McDonald's would hire her? Sorry. I just can't buy into that one either. I also refuse to believe it was chemistry. While the human cell might vary slightly from person to person giving some of us blue eyes and others brown, I refuse to believe that they can vary to such a degree that Warren Buffett can live in a palace (solely because he has good chemistry) while John Doe lives in a tent along side the banks of the Missouri River (because his molecular structure is flawed somehow). So if it's not fear or desire or fate or bones, blood, organs and muscles, what is it? What's left? Mind? Spirit? That's it. Has to be. There is nothing more. Right? Body, mind, spirit, nothing more, nothing less. Basic recipe for all humans. So what is it about my mind and spirit that keeps me marginal - keeps me from exceptional? I don't have all the answers. Heck, I don't even have a few answers. But, after careful consideration and much reflection, here's what I've come up with. My spirit - my driving force - is lost to me. I have an awareness of my spirit, but I'm not really plugged in - connected. We've all heard that phrase, "let the spirit move you", but mine doesn't or I won't allow it to - I'm really not sure which. So the first thing I gotta do is find my spirit. If I can do this, then I think I'll easily be able to identify what it is I want from this life. What is "it" that will get me to my exceptional life? When I look back over my list of folks who have - in my mind anyway - lived an exceptional life, the common thread, the common denominator, seems to be spirit. They are - or in some cases were - filled with and lead by spirit. So I have to find a way. I have to find the path that will lead me to spirit. That has to be first. Just has to be. How will I find spirit? Now there's the million dollar question! If I knew that, I probably wouldn't be blogging about this subject. The truth is I just don't know. I've looked for spirit at church, but I didn't find it. I've looked for spirit in books, but I didn't find it there either. I've looked for spirit in prayer, but it was still lost to me. I've looked for spirit in movies and songs and paintings and dance, but all I could ever find was the spirit of others. I never found mine. This coming Saturday I'm attending a meditation retreat with a friend down at the Unity Temple. It's a 6 hour retreat. God, I hope they won't make me meditate for 6 whole hours! I can't even get a good 6 minutes in till I'm ready to throw in the towel. But anyway, I digress a bit. Sorry. The point is I'm going to this thing because I'm hopeful that I'll find my spirit. And if I do, then I fully intend to keep it. It shall become the biggest, brightest, best part of me. And surely then I'll be on my way. Leaving marginal Karen behind while I run full steam ahead toward my exceptional self. . . my exceptional life. Then there's mind. What is mind anyway? I know what a brain is - I've seen one. I saw it while visiting a cadaver lab over at Cleveland Chiropractic College several years back when I was a student at the Midwest Institute of Natural Healing. Anyway, it was gross. How would I describe what I saw that day? Hmm. Well, it was this nasty looking blob of a thing that appeared to be composed of spaghetti noodles or worms. It looked like the kind of thing one could easily squish if stepped on. What it did not look like was power. When I think of the human brain, I think of power. Think about it for a minute. How strong must the human brain be to do all its business? Doesn't it tell the lungs to breathe? Doesn't it tell the heart to beat? Doesn't it make our muscles fire just right so we can move through life without even thinking about it? Even when we are asleep, the brain keeps right on working. Work, work, work. It never gets a day off. So that lil bugger just has to be strong. But it sure didn't look strong the day I saw it sitting there on that cold, icy, stainless steel, lab table. Nope, it looked like some overgrown bug that I could easily scrape off the bottom of my shoe if ever I were to step on one. But the question I have about how to get to my exceptional life is not so much about brain as it is about the function of the brain. The function of the brain - or at least one of its functions - is to think. Thought. Where do thoughts come from? Why are some thoughts positive and some negative? Why are some thoughts so good that we want to experience them over and over again while others are so horrible that we wished we'd never had them in the first place? I wonder if Mother Teresa ever thought about killing someone. Seriously! She was human - just like me. I have never killed anyone but I sure have thought about it. So maybe she did to. But she didn't - kill anyone that is. That's just it. No matter how negative Mother Teresa's thoughts might have been, they never kept her from living her exceptional life. From this, I am convinced that I don't have to stop my thought processes. I can live with negative thoughts; I just can't act on them. To live my exceptional life, I have to find a way to use my brain's function - thought - for the good. I have to use thoughts to get me where I want to be. More than that, I have to find a way not to let negative thoughts keep me from where I want to go. My exceptional life awaits me. This I firmly believe. I just have to find my spirit, connect and let it move me while at the same time not allow negative thoughts to stop me from getting where I want to be.

When In Doubt. . . Read This!

I was up way past my bedtime last night watching OWN. . . Oprah Winfrey Network. Every time I turn that station on, she is there - Oprah that is. Does she ever sleep? Does she spend all of her time filming programs to be aired on her station? Sure seems that way. I don't know how she does it, I really don't. But thank Jesus that she does! For if she didn't, I wouldn't have seen the show I saw last night when worry and dread and mental pain consumed me - robbing me of precious sleep. Don't ask me the name of the program cause I don't have a clue. I tuned in a tad bit late, so I didn't catch the name. Doesn't matter one wit. What matters is that I saw the program. Got the message. Saw the light. Received light where only dark had been. It gave hope. Hell, it was just down right cool. Deepak Chopra was Oprah's invited guest. They talked about Karma, which is really the same thing as "The Golden Rule". "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". "We reap what we sow". "Every action generates a force of energy that returns to us in like kind". Basically, what we have in our life right now is present because of something we did a minute ago, an hour ago, a day ago, two days ago, a week ago, a year ago and so on. I can change my karma by changing what I'm thinking which leads to what I'm doing. . . right this minute! And if that's not enough of an eye opener, try this one on for size. . . close your eyes. . . see the moon in your mind's eye. . . now see an oak tree along the muddy river bank. . . now see a red triangle. . . now . . . open your eyes. Do you see how easily you let a thought - a thing - a vision - into your mind? More importantly, do you see how easily you let the thing, the vision, the thought go? The message? YOU ARE NOT YOUR THOUGHTS! They are not permanent. Your mind has the ability to think any thought - ANY thought at all. And! It has the ability to let the thought go! Because? It is NOT you!!! I am NOT it!!! My thoughts are not me. They are not the essence of me. They are thoughts - nothing more - nothing less. They don't matter one wit. And, I have absolute power over them. I can change them into anything I want with nothing more than an imaginary switch. Moon? Tree on the river? Red triangle? When a thought comes in that I don't like - one that is dark - one that disturbs me - one that is upsetting or negative or hurtful in any way. . . S T O P! Let it go. Think. . . Moon. Think. . . Oak Tree. Think. . . Red Triangle. Just stop. Take a breath. Let it go. Think a new thought. One that is more pleasing. One that is more positive. One that is better suited to me and my needs in the moment. Just stop, breathe and change the channel. When you change the channel, you change the thought. When you change your thoughts, you change your actions. When you change your actions, you change your karma. Don't like what you have? Change it. It all starts in the mind. Pretty f***ing cool if you ask me!

Someone, Please Turn On The Light

A thought comes in. If it's dark, it's all encompassing, all consuming, like a weed, it takes over until it owns me. If it's not dark, it doesn't last long, it doesn't prevail, it doesn't conquer. It is there but a minute and then it's gone again. Where did it go? Why oh why can't I get it back? The darkness I can fight against all day and all night, which only causes it to grow deeper roots and me to become completely exhausted. It's as if the fight is water mixed with the proper amount of miracle grow - just makes the darkness stronger - harder to kill. Damn it! Why does this happen? Why can't I stop it? What is so wrong with me? Do I not have education? Do I not have good life experience? Do I not have opportunity? Do I not have light within? What? What? What is wrong? Darkness loves me. Light eludes me. It hates me. It refuses to plant itself and take up residency - something I really long for. What possible reason is there to go on? To wake another day? To breathe another breath? Why? So that darkness can breed making itself more prevalent, more life consuming, more soul sucking? Breath for me is like gasoline on a fire. It spreads evil, wicked, torment, black, it feeds the demon within. Happiness, joy, love, light, laughter I cannot have. Not for more than a second or two. And those seconds grow farther and farther apart it seems. I can't remember the last time they were here with me. So long ago. I have a memory of them, but my memories grow weaker and weaker and the good gets harder to recall. Will the day come when I won't know them at all? As if they never existed? If dark has its way, that is exactly what shall become of me. Walking death. No life. No love. No happiness or joy. Only dark. Only pain. Only sorrow. I don't want that. I don't want my life to become that. Is it better to die then to go on living and letting dark have its way with me? I believe it might be. I can't find a reason to live for this - for darkness. It has stolen most of my life now. Little is left. It won't be happy until it has all of me and I can't be happy with any of it. I don't know what tools, if any, will destroy it. For if I did, I would buy a truckload and get to work. Dig, pick, pull - do whatever necessary to get it out or die trying. I'd buy tools for friends and family too and let them have a go at the life sucking demon. Does the world need people like me in order to know the good - the happiness - the joy it has? Is that my purpose here? To make life better for others? If that is so, then there must be others like me - carrying more than their fair share of darkness. I can't help but wonder whether they too have written a blog about the pain they face on a near daily basis. I wonder if they have sat in their rooms considering whether someone like me existed. Maybe we should all get together and share war stories - to see whether we can "one up" each other in the darkness department. Ha! I can visualize the party invites in my mind now. "Hey. . . does your life absolutely suck? If so, join others just like you and compare life horror stories. Yeah, come one, come all, make a new friend - someone else who can let you down on a regular basis since there's absolutely no room for happiness in that dark, fucked up life of yours. No need to RSVP (the hostess doesn't need yet another let down when your sorry ass doesn't show up) just come on over if you don't kill your worthless self first." Hmm. Maybe not. I don't see how any good could come from that sort of a party, or should I say gathering? "Party" just somehow doesn't capture the spirit of the thing. So if I can't fight the fight on my own and if there are no tools in the toolshed to kill the demons within and if a gathering of other dark-minded folks won't work, whatever should I do? Is 51 too young to die? I don't really know. Since I don't really know, maybe I should wait until I find another possible solution. In the meantime, perhaps I'll take another pill and see if I can't numb myself to the darkness. Pretend it doesn't have power. Hide from it. Fake happiness for the good of others. It's 10:30 now. If I ingest now, happiness or some fabricated form of it, should come knocking on my dark mind in about an hour.

To My Daughter

As sure as my name is Karen, I'm sure that I want me a baby girl. I just do. Think I've always wanted this - clear back as far as I can remember. When I was 12, I busied myself thinking up names for all the many children I would have one day. I believe there were eight total. Eight children! I can't even imagine it now, but at the ripe old age of 12 - when I knew everything there was to know about life and living and grown up responsibilities - I wanted 8 youngins. Summer, Tara, Heidi, Annie, Barbie, Rene, Maria, Tiffany, Jennifer, Samantha, Joshua and Michael. See why I want a baby girl? I had so many perfect names for all my many daughters, but struggled to come up with even two names for my sons. So I want a baby girl. Wanted her then and want her now. While my name selection has changed from the childlike "Summer", to a wiser, more mature list including Abigail, Betsy, Elizabeth, Jessica, Katherine, Laura, Lanie, Mallory and Scout (yes, as in To Kill a Mockingbird), not much else has changed. The idea that I would be a wonderful mother is, on most days, first and foremost in my mind. The older I get, the more I think about what I have given up. . . my ability to have a child. My body has now passed the baby-making stage and moved into the stage where I'm better suited (at least physically) to be a grandma. Ick! How I hate the thought of that. I don't want to be a grandma. I want to be a mom. A mother, a mommy, a mama, a mom, a ma. It's not natural to be a grandmother without ever having been a mom. It's just not. Least not for me it's not. If I were a mom what would I do? Above all, I would love my child unconditionally. I would let her (or him) know each and every day how much they are loved. Not only would I tell my child that I loved her, I would show her every opportunity I was given. I would "show up" when showing up meant something. To all the things that were important to her - I'd be there. I'd be the parent she could always count on no matter what. I would sing to her and play with her and dress her up in fancy clothes and play make-up. I would curl her hair and take her shopping and bake cookies with her every Sunday morning. I would set a time aside every single week that would be our "girl" time. Just she and I. We'd have a special activity that the two of us would do each and every week. I can think of at least 100 things I would enjoy doing with my daughter. But that's selfish of me, so I think I'd wait til she was old enough and then let her pick our special activity. Whatever was fun for her, then that's what we'd do. Not only would I love my child unconditionally and plan activities for the two of us, I would expose her all the religions of the world. Help her get in touch with her spiritual side. We would go to a new church or temple or synagogue or mosque every month until we found something that resonated with her. I've come to realize that spirituality is so very important. Without it, humans are like robots. I wouldn't want my child to go through life all mechanical and stiff like. I would want her to live a full, spiritual life, and I would help her discover and then embrace that part of herself. Culture is important too, I believe, to live a complete and balanced life. For this reason, my daughter and I would spend time together learning about different world cultures. We'd spend time in libraries and museums and theaters. We'd go to concerts together - everything from classical to celtic to blues and reggae. If we could afford to travel the world, then we would. Otherwise, we'd spend time learning about the four corners of the earth on a computer in the comfort of our living room. We'd wear our PJ's, snack on popcorn and read all about Bangladesh one night and Peru the next. So many things I'd love to do - to share - with my daughter. Above all, I'd consider it a privilege to get to know her. The real her. Who she is on the inside. What she loves and what she fears. What goals she has, what dreams she dreams. Who she wants to be and how she wants to get there. Above all, I'd teach my child that she is perfect - just as she is. She'd never have to apologize for what she feels or thinks or says. In my world, she would be free to be who and what she is. I'd love her unconditionally and I'd teach her - from the day of her birth - to love herself. . . unconditionally. So to my little Scout, mommy loves you madly and can't wait to get to heaven to meet you. Until then, look inside when you want to be with me, cause I'm right there. . . in your heart. . . and always will be.

A Man and His Dog at Home

Today is April 17, 2012. While driving down the road yesterday, I saw a homeless man and his little dog sitting on the side of the road. The man held a sign asking passerbys for help. The dog just sat there - hoping someone would stop to help his master. Homeless people and their signs have become so common place that I wonder how many non-homeless folks even see them. Do we look right through them? Do we turn and look away so we don't have to see them? Have we all become so callused that we can easily pretend like homeless men, women, children and their pets don't exist? Is it that we are callused or is it really a matter of fear? Maybe we - the non-homeless population - are afraid that if we look at a homeless person - really take the time to see them - that their homelessness - their dirtiness - their shame - their poverty - will rub off on us. Like homelessness is a disease one catches or something. Or maybe we are afraid that if we see the homeless, we'll be forced to do something about it. . . or worse. . .admit we can't. If I pretend you don't exist, then I'm not required to do anything, right? Yes, I believe this is the more likely scenario. People look away - refusing to see the homeless - because they fear having to do something about it. The fear, I think, is more about not knowing what to do then it is about having to do something. What is the solution? How do we as a society "fix" homelessness? Politicians, church leaders, social workers, advocates - many, many knowledgable - trained - people - have tried to find a solution, and failed. And if they can't fix the problem, how on earth can I? So I look away. I don't have an answer. I don't have a solution. I don't like to be reminded of my shortcomings, so I refuse to see you, Mr. Homeless Person. I want to sleep well at night in my big comfy bed in my toasty warm house - without guilt. And how can I do that if I see you? Hey! Homeless People! You hit a nerve in me! But not because I am afraid of you. I'm not. I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of my inability to find a solution. I'm afraid of not having control. I'm afraid of the unknown. It's easier to look away - pretend you don't exist - then it is to face my own fears. I fear I have failed you, Mr. Homeless Person. In fact, I know I have. I am so incredibly sorry. What can I do to fix this wrong? Maybe a place to start is on the curb, by your side, like your little dog. . . fully seeing you.

Like Jesus Did

Jesus, the way I understand him, was a really cool cat. The coolest really. Long haired, hippy freak type who probably would have voted to legalize marijuana, legalize gay marriage, open up the borders, abolish the death penalty, increase the minimum wage, and encourage educators to teach world religion and evolution in the same classroom. He lived for inclusion. He lived for relationship with others. Relationship, connectedness with people, was like air or water for him - a necessity. But not for himself. No, he was a truly selfless human. He sought out others for them for their needs. He wanted the best for others. Never was he judgmental. Any advice he gave about thoughts or feelings or behaviors, was for the benefit of others and not for himself. He met folks wherever they happened to be in their life and loved them just as they were. He didn't say, "change this, change that and then I'll love you". Nope. He just loved unconditionally. That's really hard to do by the way. Don't we all have expectations or requirements where others are concerned? Don't we all have preconceived notions or ideas about how others should look or dress or act or think? And when folks don't live up to those expectations, don't we dismiss them, walk away or let them be? All the while thinking. . . I can't, I won't love you. You just don't measure up! You're just not what I need in my life the way you are. Not Jesus. He wasn't that way. Not in the least. He sought out the sickest, the wicked, the evil, the lost and broken and said, "hey, friend, yeah you, you are special, you are unique, you are one of a kind and I need relationship with you". Can you imagine? Can you imagine someone needing you. . . just the way you are. . . all the good and all the bad. . . not asking you to conform or change in any way? Just be you and let me love you as you are. Pure, real, unconditional lover of souls - all souls. That's who Jesus was. That's who Jesus is. He was and is love. A little scary, huh? This man loved us - all of us - without condition - and then he laid down his life for us. It's hard to accept that we can receive pure love - no strings attached - because our human (fallible) minds convince us that we aren't worthy. Our human-ness stands in the way. Our flawed thinking convinces us that the world isn't capable of giving or receiving such an unassuming, amazing love. Only God - the one perfect being - is capable of such a love. Or so we tell ourselves. But human Jesus was capable. And if he was capable, then why aren't we? Or are we? Maybe if we all seek relationship with others for others - putting their needs ahead of our own - we could learn to love a pure and selfless love. . . like Jesus did.

Cling to the Good

"Cling to what is good". I read that on the back of a baptist church "love" card. So what's a baptist church "love" card? They are these business-style cards that have Bible quotes and other special messages printed on them instead of your standard name, title, address, phone number, e-mail address and whatnot. Really a very "good" idea if you ask me. An inexpensive, simple way for the church to get God's message out to the general public. While many folks might be reluctant to sit down and read big ol' chunks of the Bible, they might be open to the idea of accepting a small business card and then reading the message printed upon it. I was anyway, and that's how I happened to come across "cling to what is good." So what is "good" exactly? I suppose it is a relative term when you really get right down to it. Good for me might not be good for the guy next door, right? I mean cashews and walnuts might taste yummy, satiate my body, smell heavenly and feel like the perfect sized food in the palm of my hand, but they might kill by best friend who happens to suffer from a nut allergy. Yeah, so "good" in the particular really must be a relative term or idea. But what about in a broader sense? What if I said, "food is good" instead of "walnuts are good"? I'd probably be hard pressed to find someone who would disagree with the categorization that food is good. So in a broad, general sense, what is "good"? Babies, puppies and kittens, and the sun and the moon and the stars, and the rain and the wind and the air that we breathe, and books and movies and songs, and new clothes and hair-cuts and a night on the town, and dancing and playing and love-making, and creativity and thinking and communicating, and a joke and a job and ______. You fill in the blank. Go ahead. I'm sure you can think of a thing or two or ten or twenty that I've failed to mention. But more than that - more than all the things I've listed or the things you may have added - love and family and friends and connectedness and belonging and safety and stability and relationship and compassion and understanding and feeling whole and complete and fulfilled - that's good. Cling to that! Cling to yourself. Cling to others. Cling to the God of your understanding. Cling to that which makes you feel and believe and know that you are good. Because you are! We all are! There is goodness in each and every one of us. While we might not always do good things, say good things, think good thoughts, or feel good feelings, we are still - at our very core - good. I believe God made us "good", because He is incapable of imperfection. Robbers, rapists, murderers, child molesters, yes, even Hitler, did horrific things. They sat God's "good" aside in order to do evil. That does not mean, however, that they - as flesh and bone - were not good. It just means they got lost. Some for an instant, others for much longer. If humanity as a whole could work toward finding the good - in ourselves as well as others - we could cling to it and eradicate that which is not good: poverty, war, homelessness, ignorance, selfishness, hatred, hunger, disease, greed and _____. You fill in the blank. Go ahead. Think on it. Sleep on it. And when you are ready, fill in the blank. Strive then, daily, to cling to the good, which will eliminate the _____. Peace.

Barbie and Me and the Grain Elevators

Walking down the hall at work today, a young "20-something" with the body of a Barbie Doll who was wearing a short, swishy but ass-hugging skirt held a door open for me and urged me to pass through. As she held the door and I walked through, I couldn't help but notice, mostly because of the mouth-watering appetite-producing aroma, the plate of food she held in her free hand. Piled on top of her 1/2 lb. cheeseburger with the works, were the yummiest looking salty, greasy golden brown french fries I've seen in some time. At my age, I really don't eat many french fries these day cause they have a way of becoming a permanent part of my stomach, ass, thighs and arms. Anyway, the fries looked and smelled better then any food has a right to. As I passed by Anorexic Annie, who was posing as Bulimic Betty - or maybe I have that wrong - maybe she was Bulimic Betty posing as Anorexic Annie - I couldn't help but wonder if she saw me as old. Was she holding that door open for me because she was respecting her elders? Did she view me as so broken down and decrepit that she believed me incapable of holding my own door open? After all, both my hands were free. Shouldn't it have been me who held the door for her? She did have her hands - or at least one of her hands - full of food, so it would have seemed more appropriate for me to hold the door for her. But that didn't happen and I can't help but to wonder why. In my head, I'm "20-something" too. Always have been, always will be. But my body must be some other age. Technically, I think it's 51 - or so I'm told. Doesn't happen often, but ever once in awhile I have this thought about age. Usually prompted by something someone else does or says. Today was one of those days. The action of another person made me have a thought. A thought that I'm not immortal. I am aging. My days on this planet are limited - more so now then ever before. Even as I write this, I've lost time and am closer to death then I was a second ago. Ugh. I remember starting with my company 25 years ago. Young and alive with no sense of time or age at all. Well at least not where I was concerned. I saw age only in others - people older then myself. And I still do that. Many of the folks who worked for my company the day I started are still there. And they are still older then me. So most of the time, I see age only when I'm in the company of one of them. Now it's happening. There are more "20-somethings" then there are "50-somethings" in my office, and it's causing me to become more and more aware that time is not on my side. My boobs are sagging, my skin is losing elasticity, I'm developing a turkey neck, the color of my eyes are dulling, I have age spots on my hands that darken with each passing year, my bladder is weaker causing me to have to pee all the time, I don't sleep soundly at night - I'm typically up 2 or 3 times a night, my bones are starting to pain me on a regular - frequent - basis, my memory is starting to fail me, and now, for the first time ever, I question who I am. I don't really know. How strange. If you had asked me at 21 who I was, I could have told you in a heartbeat! And now at 51, I really don't know. I don't know from where I came and I don't know where I'm going. And most of the time, I don't know what I'm doing or why. Ugh! Driving home from work tonight, I saw it. Something I never thought I'd see. They - whoever "they" are - have started tearing down my childhood. Ok, ok, not my childhood exactly - but something from my childhood. I was born in the quaint lil town of North Kansas City in a small area hospital. Just down the street were grain elevators. Each time I pass through North Kansas City, I see those grain elevators and they bring back all kinds of memories. Some sad, but most are good. They are memories mostly of my youth - fun times, good times - back in the day when I played and laughed and grew boobs and knew exactly who I was and where I was going. And today on my way home, the grain elevators were gone. Demolished. Torn down. Fallen into a big ol’ heap of rubble. I almost cried. As goes the grain elevators, so go I. Maybe not today, but soon.

Comforting Moon

I remember the tiny little bed in an attic I believe. Lying there that night, looking out the window at the big, shiny moon and wondering where you were. Where was my mama? Where was my papa? Who were these people that owned the bed in the attic that had a window that had a moon? Had you given me away? Didn't you love me anymore? Why? What had I done? What hadn't I done? Wasn't I good? Didn't I behave? I tried really hard. Wasn't my hard good enough? Would I ever see you again? Did you miss me too? Would the sun rise tomorrow or was this the end of time? These and so many more were questions that plauged my mind that night. I was three. One of my earliest memories. Being alone. All alone. And not knowing why. No understanding. One day I was happy at home with my mama and daddy. The next I was in a strange place with strange people thinking strange thoughts that had never occurred to me before. Like all children, I'm sure, my mother and father were my rock, my foundation, my life. They were the people I turned to for everything. They had all the answers. They kept me safe. Nothing bad could ever happen so long as they were there. No monsters in the closet. No boogie man under the bed. Then it happened. They were gone. I didn't know where they were. I didn't know why they left - or left me. I didn't know if they were coming back. And for the first time in my short life, I came to understand that I wasn't safe. I was alone. It was just me in the world. I couldn't trust or depend on anyone if I couldn't trust and depend on my mother and father. What would I do? Where would I go? What would become of me? These questions kept me up that night as I lay in that bed looking at that big ol moon. Fear. I felt it. It was real. It was consuming. It was terrorizing. But somehow the moon saved me. It gave me comfort. I had seen it before. It was familiar in that place of strange. It got me through the night. And to this day, when I look at the moon, there is a peace that fills me with a knowing that everything is gonna be ok. . . somehow.

Lost

Where is my passion? Where did it go? Did I lose it again for a friend for a foe? Did I let go of me trying too hard to please you? And now you don't love me like you used to do. So I've lost not only my passion for me, but it seems to me that I've lost you too. And now I have nothing, nothing but blue. God, I hate blue. It is a horrible shade of black, which I hate too. Does pain have a shade - a color - a hue? Yes, yes I'm just sure that it do. And it's ugly and vile and destructive - I know. I've been there, I have, at least a time or two. Now I am back. I'm back in that place. Where I don't know me - I'm lost to myself. I'm sad and I'm mad and I'm tattered and torn. Cause I gave up my soul - my reason to exist - for someone or something I should never have risked. Why oh why did I do this again? When will I learn that it's me in this world? No one and no thing will tend to me well. Unless it is me, guess I'll just live in hell.

Spring

Happy sring. My favorite time of the year. Everything is new again. Out with the old and in with the new. Driving down the road recently, I noticed how green the grass was. It was like a sudden explosion of color. One day, our natural world was brown and dead, the next it was green and pink and red and yellow and vibrant and fully alive. Happened almost overnight. Oh how I love spring. Love everything about it. Warm air. Windows opened. Days are longer. Cool evening breeze. Abundance of sunshine mixed with gentle spring rains. The world even smells new and fresh. Animals appear to be more full of life. People seem to be peaceful and energized. Can't wait til I'm spring - all colorful and new again and fully alive.

Mega Millions. . . When the Dream Comes True

One in 1,766,000. Those are the odds of winning the Mega Millions jackpot. Wow! Sounds impossible and yet millions of people - people just like me - buy lottery tickets week after week dreaming about what they'll do when their numbers come in. Numbers get drawn and dreams get shattered. But do those millions of folks give up when the odds-being-against-em hits em squarely in the face? No, no they don't. Instead, they return to their local conveinece store or grocery store or gas station a day or two later and buy again. And again they start planning what they'll do when their lucky numbers come in on Saturday night. Buy this, buy that, pay off this bill, pay off that, quit the job, go on a cruise, invest in the stock market, share some with family. So many things, so many dreams. What would I do? What if 2, 8, 12, 15, 51 and 55 (my lucky numbers) came in? Would I be prepared? Would I remain calm? Would I quietly run to the lottery office to collect my winnings, or would I let my excitement overrule my logic and start calling everyone I know to share the good news? I like to think that I have enough smarts, enough control that I could keep it quiet, but I'm not so sure I could. It would be a wonderful, joyous, dream-come-true occassion that I'm sure I'd want to tell. Tell someone. Tell anyone. Just tell. Ok, I think I'll just get real with myself and acknowledge my weakness. I have a big mouth. It's hard to keep a secret, especially when it's mine. So I'd tell. I'm sure I would. But who? Who would I really want to know of my new millionaire status? Those folks that wouldn't take advantage. But who are they? Family? Friends? Enemies? Strangers? Enemies would be a safe bet. They wouldn't dare try and take advantage, would they? I'm just about mean enough that I'd love nothing more than to tell an enemy that I just struck it rich and they should expect none of my new found wealth. That would feel really good, wouldn't it? Ok, maybe not. That's just mean. So I won't tell my enemies. What about my family? Would I? Should I? Let them in on the secret that I can't be quiet about? Or should I just send them cash annoymously from time to time? Hmm. Yeah, I'd have to tell them. I'm a blabber mouth. No way I could keep this news from my family. Just couldn't do it. So I'd tell mom and dad and Curt and Jo and papa and Dian and Dan and Will and lil Zack. Little Zack wouldn't have a clue what I was talking about, but I'd tell him anyway. Just to see him grin. That happy baby grins about everything! So I know he'd grin at me as I whispered in his ear that his grannie Karen just won millions of dollars. What about friends? Would I tell them? Yeah, I'm sure I would. Probably not before I collected, but soon thereafter. I don't have alot of friends - real friends - so there'd only be a handful of folks I'd share my good news with. Who would the short list include? Nancy, Stacy, Kathy, Charlie, Michael, Susan, Julie and probably Effie depending on which way the wind was blowing that day. As for complete strangers? Hmm. I'm sure I wouldn't tell strangers - not outright anyway. I'd just let passerbys see my joy, see my happiness and they could draw their own conclusions about the "whys" behind it. Now for the million dollar question. What would I do - really do - with millions of dollars? The answer to this is much easier then the question about who I'd tell. I'd buy a cabin with a huge porch where Shannon and I could live and love and enjoy all the days of our lives. I'd pay off all of our debt and take a vow to never finance anything ever again. I'd buy Shannon a new motorcyle and a couple of horses. I know how much he loves - and misses - horses, so I'd buy him at least two. I'm sure I'd share some of the money with family because it would help them and it would make me feel really good to be able to do it. Win/win! I'd invest enough that Shannon and I could live comfortably the rest of our lives without having to work if we didn't want to. I'd buy an RV so we could start traveling throughout the USA seeing all the places we've talked and dreamed about. Last, but not least, I'd loan money to members of KAVA to give folks a hand up. In other words, I'd have some fun with the money, protect my future and invest in humanity. So that's what I'd do. Correction. . . that's what I'll do. I fully expect to win. . . any day now. Come on lucky 2, 8, 12, 15, 51 and 55! Mama's got plans. . . big plans!