Just BEing John-Michael

Life's Unfettered Joy

2011-12-25T13:38:00.000-05:00

And, herein lies Life’s fullest demonstration

ofunfettered Joy …

I happily share this Imagewith You, Dear Reader and Friend, in celebration of the Love that is soobviously experienced between my darling Brittany Brother, Christophe, and theDelight of his Soul, his Daughter, Rose.

My thanks to you, Christophe, for allowing me to share inthe ecstasy of this beautiful Moment in your life.

My love to All in this sweet Season of Loving.

A Lovely Gift

2011-12-04T10:35:00.005-05:00

Those who pay heed to such things will notice that I have not posted any personal reflections for quite some time. The reason is simple. My Soul had no song to sing.

That changed yesterday.

As I accompanied my sister, Linda, in her quest for Christmas tree ornaments (in a nearby crafts store), a lovely Gift appeared. Her Presence was as that of a visitation by an extraordinary tropical bird. Such an overwhelming loveliness that I was instantly smitten.

And, just as is true of that likened bird, she was completely comfortable with her Being. Her smile communicated a gentle, tender, and totally unassuming harmony with her place in her world.

I made a clumsy attempt at thanking her for that Gift, of her smile. Then wrote, and gave to her, a note (on the reverse of a calling card) expressing my appreciation for her Presence.

Just as is true of that metaphorical bird, I do hope that, in future, she will make an appearance in my life. For, truth be told, I have repeatedly had the thought that nothing could possible be better than to greet each day in the company of such grace and loveliness. And, just as is so with the aforementioned ‘bird,’ I would never want to, in any way, restrain, inhibit, threaten, or discourage the possibility of such an appearance.

I am so happy that I have learned how to embrace Life’s offerings of beauty. To be open to acknowledgement of and expression of appreciation for these marvelous Gifts makes the beginning of my third trimester of life something exciting and inviting.

So, my dear and faithful Reader, today I sing a song of delighted joy as I thank the Author of all that is good, for the exquisite Gift of this lovely person into my little world. Such beautiful Bliss!

(By the way, Linda and I had an absolute blast together! Neither of us enjoys shopping. But, together, we had great fun. She is a wonderful sister. [And she agreed with me in my admiration of yesterday’s Gift.]) [smile]

Frightened

2011-09-25T10:32:00.002-04:00

"There are kids underneath my bed,"

Cried little baby monster Fred.

Momma monster smiled. "Oh, Fred,

There's no such things as kids," she said.

Shel Silverstein

The Pure Soul

2011-09-01T18:22:00.001-04:00

"The pure soul shall mount on native wings,

disdaining little sport,

and cut a path into the heaven of glory,

leaving a track of light for men to wonder at."

William Blake

Rarest and Most Precious Human Talent

2011-08-30T00:24:00.005-04:00

“… Parnell McCarthy possessed the rarest and most precious of human talents … a talent so elusive that it receded only the faster before those who wooed it with more gadgets and toys: the capacity for participation and joy, the enviable ability to draw vast pleasure and enjoyment from small occasions and simple things.

For all the old man’s show of cynicism, he possessed the sense of wonder of a small boy flying a kite.”

Robert Traver
“Anatomy of a Murder”

Oasis

2011-08-11T09:35:00.002-04:00

A tiny Oasis isn't a beach holiday ...

But it will help you make it through the Desert.

John-Michael
11 Aug 2011

Fixing Congress

2011-08-08T15:44:00.002-04:00

The 26th amendment (granting the right to vote for 18 year-olds) took only 3 months & 8 days to be ratified!

Why?

Simple! The people demanded it. That was in 1971 ... before computers, before e-mail, before cell phones, etc.

Of the 27 amendments to the Constitution, seven (7) took 1 year or less to become the law of the land ... all because of public pressure.

Here is an idea that I have long-believed should be implemented. And I am grateful for having been a recipient of it in this consolidated form. So I am sharing it with you, Dear Reader, in the hope that you will apply whatever pressures you are inclined to use on your elected Congresspersons.

Congressional Reform Act of 2011

1. No Tenure / No Pension.

A Congressperson collects a salary while in office and receives no pay when they are out of office.

2. Congress (past, present & future) participates in Social Security.

All funds in the Congressional retirement fund move to the Social Security system immediately. All future funds flow into the Social Security system, and Congress participates with the American people.

It may not be used for any other purpose.

3. Congress can purchase their own retirement plan, just as all Americans do.

4. Congress will no longer vote, for themselves, a pay raise. Congressional pay will rise by the lower of CPI or 3%.

5. Congress loses their current health care system and participates in the same health care system as the American people.

6. Congress must equally abide by all laws they impose on the American people.

7. All contracts with past and present Congresspersons are void effective 1/1/12.

The American people did not make this current contract with Congresspersons. Congresspersons made all these contracts for themselves. Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career. The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, so ours should serve their term(s), then go home and back to work.

I do believe this a healthy step toward appropriate Accountability and just Service. I thank you for your consideration of it.

Time For a little "Feel Good!"

2011-07-08T12:37:00.009-04:00

(I invite you to enhance your enjoyment of the video [below] with an understanding of the meaning of the Lyrics.)

Satchita Translation
(verses in Portuguese and Choruses in Indian Sanskrit)

Ask God,

That men find their lost steps
That dreams wake up sleepy eyes,
That love overflows and that we live in peace
That days end with tired arms
That luck strive to be on your side
That pain should not astound me
Or make me restless,

Ask God.

Sat - The formless
Chit - Consciousness of the universe
Ananda- Pure love, bliss and joy
Para brahma --The supreme creator
Purushothama -Who has incarnated in human form to help guide mankind
Paramatma -Who comes to me in my heart, and becomes my inner voice whenever I ask
Sri Bhagavate - The divine mother, the power aspect of creation
Same tha- Together within
Sri Bhagavate -The Father of creation which is unchangeable and permanent
Namaha- I thank you and acknowledge this presence in my life. I ask for your guidance at all times
Om - We are calling on the highest energy, of all there is

Ask God,

To send us from the sky a lot of wisdom
a true love, that nobody goes hungry
a brotherly hug, that we live in peace
That wars be ended and poverty too
That we find happiness among so much sorrow
That light enlighten lost souls,
And a better future

A Better Man | Playing For Change featuring Keb' Mo'

2011-07-06T11:43:00.001-04:00

'Should you notice me singing to myself (which I often do) as I amble through the Market, the chances are pretty good that this is what I am singing ...

I challenge you to try to be "Down" with this song on your Heart! [loving smile]

Sanctuary

2011-07-05T11:59:00.006-04:00

Physical necessities insist on attention … but they can be negotiated with. All in the cause of prolonging the playing out of my Mind’s morning exercise. Something akin to Watching an altogether engaging Movie that is filled with distinct Elements ... all having meaning, significance, and relevance to my Life Experience.

For these Elements are all, indeed, bits and pieces of my accumulation of those Aspects of life that have been allowed, by my election, to be part of my personal, individual Awareness. Persons of particular import to me … women and men with even the briefest of influence … celebrities who have nudged a bit of space into my sensibilities (this morning found Steve Martin making a cameo appearance. Top shelf Talent free of any requirement of Royalties or Compensation. How cool is that?!)

Is it any wonder that, from my earliest of recollection, I have resisted the termination of a night’s sleep … in response to the rude demands of a new day … a whole new set of “input” to be processed (under the pressure of unsympathetic circumstances and players.) Be it School, Work, or simply daily interaction with the Stuff of ordinary life, my right-lobe/image–oriented and spatially inclined brain has been confronted with a world that unfolds in accordance with a left-lobe/data, and impulse driven tempo.

The result is that I know, from my first awakening that I am in for another day of frustrated attempts at coping with an insensitive world’s expectations and demands. And my only hope for any opportunity, to gain a safe place to sort it all out, and make some coherent sense of it all … to have some “processing time” … my only respite from the outer-world’s treadmill pace … will be in the sanctuary of my wonderful Chamber of peaceful contemplation ...

my Dreams.

Louis Armstrong - what a wonderful world

2011-06-30T16:56:00.003-04:00

It has been a while since we enjoyed a Moment made sacred by the Spirit and Message of this Heavenly Gift.

I feel like it ... Now ...

I love You Aims!

One Picture

2011-06-29T08:00:00.007-04:00

One Picture that illustrates all of One's inner sense of Self, Life, and Experience ...

This is mine ...

Winslow Homer (American, 1836–1910). The Fog Warning, 1885. Oil on canvas. 76.83 x 123.19 cm (30 1/4 x 48 1/2 in.). Otis Norcross Fund, 1894.
© Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

We laughed!

2011-06-25T22:50:00.003-04:00

We laughed!

‘Twas an easy, natural, and quite unrestrained laughter of mutual sharing and agreement.

There was no joke, story, or rational instigator of our gaiety. I do recall the tattered remains of curtains fluttering from glassless windows in that long-abandoned factory across the waterway. Though neither of us spoke of them, we seemed to silently agree that those threadbare flags from yesteryear were mocking us and toying with our Moment. And that was reason enough for us to join in the frivolity offered.

There we were … sitting at one of those ubiquitous patio tables with its requisite umbrella touting some unremembered brand of beverage ... under a crystalline-clear sky that reached to Forever. On an outing whose whose hilarity was pre-ordained by its beginning with the ill-conceived attempt at concealing all 6 feet 2 inches of the "Rogue Yank" (Me) in the back seat of a small compact car; under a blanket. (Did I mention the delightfully warm July day?) What a hoot!

The al fresco setting created from what had been the roof of an old church, now reborn as a trendy restaurant cum bistro, was our lovely discovery for lunch. Our view was of an industrial waterway flanked by yet-unrecycled warehouses and/or factories. I am sure that the starry-eyed developers would have had us see the transplanted images of the Thames/Siene/Danube (you get the idea.) [smile] And we were blessed with a delicious breeze that mitigated the Summer warmth ... and provided the energy for the aforementioned curtains' display.

Then there, there was that abandoned relic of a structure with its empty windows … empty, save those tongue-wagging old curtains. We took it all in … took each other in … and, suddenly; it was all so wonderfully grand! Ahhh!

I know no other instance of such unbridled and pure joy as those celebrated with her. Trust, respect, affection, and appreciation were ours … beyond measure. There, in the beauty of that timeless, other-worldly Moment, we knew unfettered freedom and ecstasy in a Comfort and Bliss borne of honest and pure adoration. It was … and will forever remain … heavenly.

I offer my heartfelt “Thank You!” to the Giver, of all that is good and perfect, for that marvelous Gift. It remains, these twenty-three years later, still as fresh and vitally new as it was then.

Oh! How sweet … the Laughter!

Eternity ... Heaven & Hell

2011-06-13T22:48:00.001-04:00

Eternity (n.)
Infinite duration, without beginning in the past or end in the future
(Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary [1913])

“Do you believe” I could ask, “in Eternity?” And I have a fair sense of confidence that I would receive an affirmative response from the majority of whomever I offer the question. So, neither beginning nor end … yep! That is how I know it to be myself.

Only makes the most rudimentary of sense that I celebrate this moment, in our shared Eternity, with you. This is our Heaven, if we so elect. Heaven being the Reality of living in the Presense of, and willingly choosing the direction of that loving Creator of all that has ever been … and will ever be. ‘Tis certain that Hell would be opting to live this moment in the elected absence of the influence and care of the “I Am.”

So, my Precious reader, I thank you for your heavenly Presence … here, in our Eternal Moment.

I love You! (Another 'Heavenly choice.") [smile]

Pamela Murphy ... a Marvelous Being

2011-06-01T00:02:00.030-04:00

Pamela Murphy, widow of WWII hero and actor, Audie Murphy, died peacefully at her home on April 8, 2010. She was the widow of the most decorated WWII hero and actor, Audie Murphy, and established her own distinctive 35-year career working as a patient liaison at the Sepulveda Veterans Administration hospital, treating every veteran who visited the facility as if they were a VIP.

Any soldier or Marine who came into the hospital got the same special treatment from her. She would walk the hallways with her clipboard in hand making sure her boys got to see the specialist they needed.

If they didn't, watch out. Her boys weren't Medal of Honor recipients or movie stars like Audie, but that didn't matter to Pam. They had served their country. That was good enough for her. She never called a veteran by his first name. It was always "Mister." Respect came with the job.

"Nobody could cut through VA red tape faster than Mrs. Murphy," said veteran Stephen Sherman, speaking for thousands of veterans she befriended over the years. "Many times I watched her march a veteran who had been waiting more than an hour right into the doctor's office. She was even reprimanded a few times, but it didn't matter to Mrs. Murphy. "Only her boys mattered. She was our angel."

Audie Murphy died broke in a plane crash in 1971, squandering millions of dollars on gambling, bad investments, and yes, other women. "Even with the adultery and desertion at the end, he always remained my hero," Pam told me.

She went from a comfortable ranch-style home in Van Nuys where she raised two sons to a small apartment - taking a clerk's job at the nearby VA to support herself and start paying off her faded movie star husband's debts. At first, no one knew who she was. Soon, though, word spread through the VA that the nice woman with the clipboard was Audie Murphy's widow. It was like saying General Patton had just walked in the front door. Men with tears in their eyes walked up to her and gave her a hug.

"Thank you," they said, over and over.

The first couple of years, I think the hugs were more for Audie's memory as a war hero. The last 30 years, they were for Pam.

One year I asked her to be the focus of a Veteran's Day column for all the work she had done. Pam just shook her head no. "Honor them, not me," she said, pointing to a group of veterans down the hallway. "They're the ones who deserve it." The vets disagreed. Mrs. Murphy deserved the accolades, they said.

Incredibly, in 2002, Pam's job was going to be eliminated in budget cuts. She was considered "excess staff." "I don't think helping cut down on veterans' complaints and showing them the respect they deserve, should be considered excess staff," she told me. Neither did the veterans. They went ballistic, holding a rally for her outside the VA gates. Pretty soon, word came down from the top of the VA. Pam Murphy was no longer considered "excess staff."

She remained working full time at the VA until 2007 when she was 87.

"The last time she was here was a couple of years ago for the conference we had for homeless veterans," said Becky James, coordinator of the VA's Veterans History Project. Pam wanted to see if there was anything she could do to help some more of her boys. Pam Murphy was 90 when she died last week. What a lady.

Dennis McCarthy, Los Angeles Times on April 15, 2010 ~

Medal of Honor

Distinguished Service Cross

Silver Star (with oak leaf cluster)

Legion of Merit

Bronze Star (with oak leaf cluster and Valor device)

Purple Heart (with two oak leaf clusters)

U.S. Army Outstanding Civilian Service Medal

U.S. Army Good Conduct Medal

Presidential Unit Citation (with First Oak Leaf Cluster)

American Campaign Medal

European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal (with One Silver Star, Four Bronze Service Stars (representing nine campaigns) and one Bronze Arrowhead (representing assault landing at Sicily and Southern France))

World War II Victory Medal

Army of Occupation Medal (with Germany Clasp)

Armed Forces Reserve Medal

French Fouragère in Colors of the Croix de guerre

French Legion of Honor - Grade of Chevalier

French Croix de guerre (with Silver Star)

French Croix de guerre (with Palm)

Medal of Liberated France

Belgian Croix de guerre (with 1940 Palm)

The Combat Infantry Badge

I cannot help but arrive at my own personal conclusion, my Dear Reader …

It seems to me that this Dear Lady’s being who she was … outweighed all of the accumulated awards, bestowed upon her husband, for all of his doing, of all that he did.

I am blessed to know, and have, in the past known, a few, very heroic, noble, and brave Individuals who fight daily battles with courage and effort equal to that of the most celebrated and decorated of Warriors. They will never receive any medals ... and, alas, they rarely enjoy even the most elementary of acknowledgement or notice.

Yet, it is my sincere conviction that they are crowned with a glory that surpasses the most bejeweled of crowns. They can face themselves and Eternity with the firm and solid confidence that they have given all that they had at their command for the highest and noblest of callings. They have given, and give, themselves, to Being all that they can Be. I salute them!

Pamela Murphy's story is yet another instance of One’s Being all that One can Be … having far more eternal merit than all of the most celebrated of Doings.

But, then again, that is merely my own perspective.

Lovingly,
Your constant Friend and humblest of Servants,
John-Michael

My sincere "Thank You" to Carole for sharing this lovely story with me.

OK, I’ll Tell You

2011-05-01T13:59:00.004-04:00

You have repeatedly asked (countless times over many years [usually silently]) “Why do you do that? Why do you insert yourself into the lives, circumstances, and private space of total strangers?” OK… I’ll tell you. It is because I have been alone for most of my life and I see your aloneness.

Yes, you and I have been surrounded by friends, colleagues, family, fellow worshipers, and companions, both passing and lasting. Yet we have been alone in our most intimate concerns, fears, doubts, wonderings, and apprehensions. I see you, when you are in the company of others who defer to your charisma; acquiesce to your projected confidence; still themselves to hear your voice; encourage your humor so that they can laugh, safely out of the limelight of prominence. And my heart hears the beat of your heart that is pounding out a message of ‘S.O.S.’ as it struggles with an isolation that is completely alien to the awareness of all about you.

And I recall, from my own storehouse of accumulated pain, the need that you have for an answer to your spoken and unspoken supplications to Life, as you have sought some word of comfort; some note of acknowledgement that Life is aware that you are struggling. “Here I am” I offer “You are heard … Life is with you … You are never alone … You are forever loved.”

This is my mission; my quest; my calling; to let you know that life knows you; hears you; is responding to you; has help, instruction, and encouragement for you. This I allow Life to use me to do … for you.

When I see your name in my address book; when I see your eyes in a crowd; when I see you across a busy restaurant; when I pass you in the market; in all of my life’s moments I am sensitive to you and available for you. I am yours … because I chose to give myself to you, long before we ever knew of each other. Our actual meeting was but a simple detail that I entrusted to Life. And here we are … in this moment… neither of us ever again alone. If we but accept the gift that is ‘Us.’ (“Thank You Life”)

So, perhaps, now you can be a bit more comfortable with this “Us” thing. I truly hope so. To that end, I remain, as always, your constant Friend and Servant,

John-Michael

31 January 2006

My Dialect

2011-05-01T13:45:00.002-04:00

When I speak … I speak in the dialect of my Interlocutor.
When I write … I write in the dialect of my Soul.

The two are slowly ... tediously ... becoming one;
That I may know ... and be known.

IMAGE: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

Portrayals

2011-04-23T23:00:00.009-04:00

This time, I have poured myself a tall glass of a very nice (though quite inexpensive [notice the avoidance of the word “cheap”]) wine as a “lubricant to writing.” I say “this time” because many have been the previous times that I have wanted to speak of this matter with you, Dear Reader. But it is just so “unmanly” … this whole subject.

In fact, it has occurred to me, for the very first time, this evening, that it smacks of Nana (God rest her Soul) calling up the stairs to her friend and long-term tenant, “Come on down. Our Programs are starting.” (The programs in question, being the daily, afternoon “Soaps.”) This was in the day of television’s early introduction to our lives, and few had one. So Nana would invite her friend to come down from her apartment to share in the experience of watching actors portray lives and circumstances that Nana would never … and I do mean NEVER! … participate in herself. In fact, would not want anyone to know that she had even the most remote interest in such goings on.

Where I feel that having this chat, with you here, in print, is “unmanly” … Nana would have considered her interest in (and, heaven forbid, enthusiastic involvement in watching) such “common” theatrics as unladylike (never allowed, under ANY circumstance), and perhaps even un-Christian (which could never be countenanced!) But I am brushing away my reservations because I want to share this element of myself with someone whom I have comfortable trust in. And let’s face it, if I can’t trust someone who is willing to wade through my verbal excesses, who can I trust?! [appreciative smile]

You see the thing is all about giving myself over to a portrayal. Yes … a portrayal! Every week I look forward to Saturday night (with repeats on Sunday night) so that I can surrender to the portrayal of romance, intimacy, friendship, conviviality, human exchange, and altogether very unvarnished and real relationships. All of this packaged and presented on PBS under the name of “As Time Goes By.”

Each week’s offering of this glorious presentation leaves me chuckling at human foibles, caring tenderness, blunders, forgiveness, acceptance, change, tradition, and on and on with the list of aspects of people loving, living with, and engaging other people. And I laugh, and very often cry. Tears of understanding, joy, empathy, longing, loss, emptiness, and yearnings without hope. All because the program (oops, there is Nana’s word!) portrays so eloquently and with such delicate honesty, all that I have always longed for … never had … and know will never be.

I would not presume to assign any definitions to Nana’s motivations for her enthusiasm for her programs any more than I would be so arrogant as to think myself qualified to explain the boxes of “romance novels” in the garage of one who is an avowed anti-intimacy devotee. (Something that I noticed [with considerable interest] as I visited that person, some years ago.) But I do “discuss” my passion for this presentation of all that I most fervently long for, with myself, each week.

I have a healthy understanding of the life-choices that I have made, and their natural consequences. I do not bemoan my state. I do, in fact respect the legitimacy of my circumstances, and my prospects. And, with equal respect, I appreciate all of the innate desires, appetites, inclinations, and proclivities that are a natural and legitimate part of who I am.

Thusly, I permit myself the weekly Gift of indulgence in “My Program.” Additionally, I invite you, my patient Friend, to give yourself the genuine treat of delightful enjoyment offered through excellent acting performed by outstanding artists (including, but not limited to Dame Judi Dench) on your PBS station (or on BBC, if available.)

Consider this my call up the ‘stairs’ that separate us, “Come on down. Our Programs are starting.”

Lovingly …

Words

2011-04-19T17:33:00.003-04:00

Words! Too many of not the right ones.

Therein lies the difficulty. A debilitating insufficiency of the ‘right’ words. Not that I don’t know a fair quantity of words … but I am dismally frustrated by my ineptitude in discovering and implementing the ‘right’ … no, not the ‘right,’ (that’s too easy) … the PERFECT; yes, the absolutely perfect words to convey all of the scope and dimension of what I am sensing. That is what I am in search of. I want to use the very fewest, of the most perfect, words to clearly communicate the full depth and breadth of what I want understood between us. But, alas, I am reduced to a fumbling, awkward, semi-incompetent, in that quest.

I have a precious Friend in Greece (Athens, in fact) who holds a particularly unique place in my heart. I have made several clumsy attempts at communicating the nature of that place to her. I have used the words “romantic,” and “intimate,” in those attempts, hoping that she would respond with a request for some clarification of my thoughts … thereby (in my hopes) allowing me to (in the ensuing dialogue) develop some better means of illuminating what I feel as opposed to what is initially (in today’s vernacular) implied by those terms.

I want her to know that, with me, “romantic” encompasses my perception of all that I see and know around me. I am, in the truest sense, and at my temperamental core, a Romantic/Idealist. So, when I speak of sharing my most intimate, natural, and instinctive awareness of life … I am speaking of sharing my romantic and idealized view. I see, and know, life in romantic terms. All of life. Every element of life. This is my natural state.

Not that I do not have a grasp and understanding of al that is pragmatic and factually based. I am exceedingly aware and respectful of all that the world around me knows as “reality.” The world’s processing of and relationship to life’s circumstances and elements I equate with the PC (personal computer), left-brain, and majority dominant Microsoft operating system view … data-based and driven. I am equipped (by my loving Creator) with the minority “operating system.” My right-brain, Mac/Apple, spacial/image oriented relationship with life is what I live with.

My daily relationship with every element of my world (including each Individual and Circumstance that I encounter) is one of eternal and infinite significance. I, quite naturally, and comfortably, perceive everyone and everything through a “lens” that translates that Moment’s encounter in terms of its possibilities and potentials for a more beautiful, soul-satisfying, and eternally-lasting effect. This is my norm … my automatic, “default setting.”

When I discovered someone who, while very frugal with expression and the use of words, conveys a sense of richness of awareness, depth of character, sensitivity, and tenderness, I was jubilant. Someone who answered a question with a drawing … and in that drawing revealed an intricacy of emotion and expression that surpassed volumes of verbiage. As is my nature, I responded with my customary enthusiasm and passion. Uh-Oh! The “P” word! Yes, I know that our world has relegated passion to a narrow niche of application. But not me! I live all of my life with passion.

While many are intent on crossing life’s pond without making any ripples or disturbing anything along the shore: to arrive at the other shore having made no “waves” … I want to stir the waters. I intend to leave a wake behind my life’s little boat … and everyone in that wake better, perhaps happier, maybe even more hopeful and loving for having been “splashed on” by my passing. The “other shore” is not my focus. That is where the trip ends and all opportunity ceases. Oh no! My interest is in making every lily-pad, along the shore, bob joyously, and wave their blossoms in exuberant appreciation of the Moment. So, Dear Reader, as you may have surmised, my passion level probably exceeds the level of my proficiency in communicating. [smile]

Hence, when I tell this particular Friend that I recognize her as a Romantic Intimate, I am feebly trying to say that I know her as someone with whom I can celebrate a view and perception of life in the romantic terms that I so-uniquely know. And we can enjoy a shared vulnerability to the intimacies of an unguarded and free appreciation of the eternal, ethereal, and transcendent qualities in what we encounter in our Friendship’s journey.

Now! Do you see what I mean when I speak of the insufficiency of ‘right’ words that I am vexed by?! Look at how many of them (words) it has taken for me to try to convey this seemingly-simple concept! How I do long for some linguistic tools that will enable me to more efficiently and comfortably peak my Soul’s desired messages. I know … I know … patience! But that is so hard to come by when you are afraid that what you have spoken could be totally misinterpreted.

I thank you, my Dear and oh-so-patient Reader, for your tolerance in indulging me this soul-venting. I am truly grateful for your kind attentions.

Lovingly …

Astor's First Outing

2011-04-12T10:22:00.004-04:00

Astor (just two days old) and his Mom (Cara) are venturing out into the World for the first time. (Notice the patience with which Cara introduces Astor to the new, somewhat confusing, phenomenon of Fences and Gates. [smile])

My heartfelt "Thank You!" to Steven and Mary (my sweet Brother and his wonderful Wife) for sharing this magical moment with me. I love youse guys!

"No hurt survives"

2011-04-03T12:45:00.010-04:00

One of the nice things that I do for myself is to subscribe to daily installments from "STORYPEOPLE." I heartily recommend this little oasis of pleasure to You. I am particularly touched by this little Gem ...

"No hurt survives for long without our
help, she said & then she kissed me &
sent me out to play again for
the rest of my life."

STORYPEOPLE

Lovingly ...

Stan

2011-04-01T10:46:00.004-04:00

I had been attempting to engage life for twenty-one years. Stan had been in the game for thirty-six. We met when the firm that he had been with for an appreciable number of years hired me. He was obviously well liked and respected by his colleagues, and comfortable with who he was as an Individual. He was happy with his life. I had never known happiness with life … but sorely yearned for it. He had my attention.

As I entered this new world, I carried with me a bundle of frustrations, disappointments, doubts, and fears accumulated in a world governed by the constructs of Fundamentalist, Evangelical, Protestant religion and a Family that was staunchly locked into a pattern that disallowed any expression of emotion or affection … and, in fact, had a distrust of those who were inclined to display any such thing. A rather unhappy existence for One who is, by nature, an Idealist/Romantic. So I was wide open for an example of someone living a life that complimented my Spirit’s core desires.

And there was this Guy! Stanley H. Menendez. A man who was exuberantly engaged in living life. A man who was unabashed in his expression of adoration for his wife and family. Someone who did not live under the yoke of “know your place and stay in it” that was the credo of all of my previous upbringing and experience. This guy quietly, and in a dignified way, projected Joy in living … passion for his family … and genuine regard and respect for everyone who he engaged in his daily walk. When Stan spoke with you, you had his total and complete attention … you knew worth and value.

I tell you, my Dear Reader, about this extraordinary fellow, because he is celebrating, this month, his 80th anniversary of life . And, though I am unable to be in attendance at the celebratory luncheon that his daughters have been so gracious and kind to invite me to, I could not pass up this opportunity to tell my little World about this wonderful Man. I hope, in my so-doing, that I can encourage all of us to be mindful, yet again, of the impact, and timeless significance, that we (most-often unknowingly) make on the hearts, minds, and yes, even the lives, of those who are touched by us as we go about our daily lives. Stan is still … all these years later … a Source of encouragement and joy in my life.

I am so blessed to have, as a permanent part of my life and world, a rare few Treasures like Stanley H. Menendez. Proof, yet again, that I am watched over by a loving and generous Creator.

Happiest of Birthdays to you, Stan … my Dear Friend. I love you.

2011-02-18T11:42:00.001-05:00

If you've missed me,
there's no need for dread.

I'm really quite fine,
it's the computer that's dead.

(My thanks to Lime for posting this.)

Hope

2011-02-05T03:11:00.005-05:00

I am well-acquainted with coping ...
hoping, on the other hand, is foreign to my familiarity.

Hence, at this moment in my life-journey ...
with this Alien, Hope,
standing at the threshold of my Tomorrows ...
I am ill-equipped to handle my emotions.

I have no casual or customary repertoire
of mind-set or behaviors to rest in.

This is unexplored terrain for me.

My sleep is sporadic and irregular ...
and my wakening hours are visited with all manner
of jumbled, unordered thoughts.

Yet ... I like it!

For Once in My Life | Documentary on Spirit of Goodwill Band | Independent Lens | PBS

2011-02-01T22:28:00.002-05:00

As I allow this presentation to embrace me ... my thought is "Share this with everyone!" So, my Darling Friend, I invite you to join me. Enjoy!

For Once in My Life | Documentary on Spirit of Goodwill Band | Independent Lens | PBS

A New Awareness

2011-01-12T19:20:00.001-05:00

So, My Dear Reader, here we are. The opening pages of a new chapter … in a book that has just closed the preceding chapters. Two thirds of the way through what we can reasonably expect to be our individual contribution to Life’s ongoing story. Mom was the last of the forgoing generation … and I (as the eldest of the next) stand in line for the present in succession to the role of most senior of our family.

There is an uncertainty to this position. Prior to Mom’s passing, last Tuesday (the 4th of January), there was an unrecognized barrier between me and the threshold of mortality. Even after Dad passed, in March of 2006, Mom’s presence kept me in the role of one of ‘the kids.’ That is now gone.

Though I was never before aware of it, I rested in the unacknowledged ‘safety’ of my parents as a natural buffer separating me from the altogether usual and natural happening of my own physical impermanence. The absence of that unconscious buffer has brought an unexpected set of neither unpleasant, nor uncomfortable, feelings and sensations.

Though no one will say it, I am now in the position of the “next in line” to go. My sister, Linda, at two years younger; my brothers, Steven, at eight years, and Tracy, seventeen years my junior, are logically expected to survive me. I am the “lead domino.” [silly grin] And I am aware of a whole new sense about life. I am actually engaged in a rather exhilarating moment. I feel really, really good. How’s that for weird? I know! Me too!

I don’t share this for any meaningful or purposeful reason … just to do as I have always tried to do … remain completely open and vulnerable to you, Dear Friend, for whatever benefit there may be in it for you.

I am working on a several bits of reflection that I will post when I have digested their individual ideas sufficiently to regurgitate them here. [smile]

‘Til then, I send my heart’s truest affection for You, Dear One, and thank you for your kind and generous companionship in my life. I do, truly, love You.

When the Time is Right ... Confirmation

2010-12-29T16:05:00.001-05:00

How do you know that you are walking “Your Path”? What endorsement … what validation … what affirmation cements your confidence in the right-ness of your elections? Just like you, I had the desire for certainty. My confidence skated on the thin ice of a fragile Belief and wavering Conviction that I was being the person that I was created to BE. I, like you, was challenged by the voices of loving, caring, concerned, and trusted friends who offered their opinions and perspectives on my life choices. And none … absolutely none of them could see the rationale for my determinations. Yet … I persevered on the strength of an inner conviction that I was in harmony with the leading of the Source of all that is true.

Then Life reached out with a steadying Hand and a reassuring Voice in the person of the only individual who (as a consummate human being) could command my absolute confidence and respect. He was a respected and honored Scientist and Educator … and a deeply committed Spiritual Being. Inasmuch as he is no longer with me in physical presence (though certainly still-known in spirit) I can, and will, reveal his identity (want, as he was, to remain invisible, humble, and unobtrusive.) Swaminatha Sundaram, (Professor-Chairperson (Physics), University of South Florida, 1982 [B.Sc.; M.S.; Ph.D., D.Sc., Annamalai University, India, 1960]) became a dear Friend, Confidant, and Joy in my life from the moment of our initial meeting (as he placed his mail in the post-box at the curb, and I delivered the morning newspaper in the pre-dawn hours of the day.)

It was during one of our treasured luncheon visits together, that he (being a man of very few … yet each one valuable … words) said “You, My Friend, are a true Priest. You walk your daily path as lead by The Spirit … minister to each life encountered along that path … asking nothing and expecting nothing save the meeting of your physical and material needs. All at the direction and through the provision, of that controlling Spirit.”

Confirmation! I can tell you, My Dear Reader, that I have never, in all of my life, been more honored, humbled, and moved than at that moment. Life had warranted and authenticated my convictions in terms that I would never have known to ask for or expect. And I can now share this story with you, as my personal testimony to the certainty, that you will know, with sureness, the appropriateness of your life elections ... if you will but exercise that awesome power, of your own Free Will, to follow the Inspiration … the Inclination … the Leading of your own personal and individual “Still, Quiet, Inner-Voice.” Mindful that doing so will often be to the exclusion of all outside "influences."

I cannot promise you riches, fame, glory, or applause as an expectation resulting from such a disciplined and oft-courageous (and sometimes lonely) choice. What I can, and do, guarantee you is Joy, Confidence, Peace of Mind, and Spirit, that gives (in time … and with patience) rhyme, reason, and meaning to all of the conflicts, pains, disappointments, and sorrows of a life so lived. And ... at that time and in that place, when and where you need, and are ready for it ... you can expect, in some form, a confirmation and validation ... from the Creator of all that You are ... from "Life." A confirmation and validation of the reality of your BE-ing that unique and particularly special Individual, that You are equipped (by nature, inclination, and experience) to … BE.

This is, I promise you, My Dear Friend, the greatest reward that can possibly be imagined. To know that you are living in harmony with the intention of your Creator in the world that is your daily walk. That all is Right with You and your place in all of Time and Eternity. And it is to the encouragement, endorsement, and enabling of You, in your personal pilgrimage, that I am committed … as I remain;

Your constant Friend and unwavering Servant.

IMAGES through the gracious courtesy of Jon Sullivan, PDPhoto.org

Being ... not ... Doing

2010-12-08T23:37:00.003-05:00

He would never be measured by the accumulated credits for what he would do in life. His would not be an achievement quantified path. Those who were to take note of him would not speak of the Stuff he had done; the Creditentials he garnered; the Degrees, Titles, or Ranks he had tallied up. No, my son’s life was to be recognized for one … only one … thing. Who he was to be … not what … as that individual Person that he was created to be. This was to be my focus and the core of my parenting efforts for as long as I had the opportunity to influence him. And it was to become my life’s mantra. It is who we be … not what we do … that matters in life. (I know … the grammar stinks … but you get the point!) If we be the best that we can be … no one on the face of this planet can ever be better. This is the path that Matthew and I set out on together. Setting aside all of the cerebral palsy baggage … we would set our sights on being our best … us.

So when the young man came up to me in the coffee shop and said “I noticed that Matt really likes to read the newspaper every morning. So I gave him the novel that I finished reading last night. I told him that he will probably finish it more quickly than I did, because he reads so much. I hope that he enjoys it as much as I did.” I smiled and took silent note of the beautiful way that Matt had disregarded the fact that he couldn’t read. He pushed aside that potential barrier to social interaction … by creating the illusion that he was an ardent reader. Thus he fine-tuned his performance of all of the subtle gestures and mannerisms that he had gleaned from observing the behaviors of those who did read the newspaper. And I had, for some time, watched his beautifully played-out role as he “thoughtfully” turned the thoroughly considered pages. He artfully picked out comic strips and used them as props to share with others … pointing; throwing his head back in laughter; and enjoying the ensuing comradeship with the Strangers he met as he sat at the al fresco tables outside the shop that I sat inside of. (Please note that Matt’s mental challenges do not permit his grasping of the humor in those comics strips … even when read and explained to him.)

This was but one of the daily exercises that I devised for him (without making any note of it … just treating it as a routine, customary, and altogether normal happening.) He sat outside … at a table of his choosing, and enjoying his choice of beverage and pastry … and introduced himself to whatever level of social interplay he was comfortable with. I observed; took mental notes for discussion with his speech therapist (as we developed our understanding of the particular limitations manifested by Matt’s cerebral palsy affected brain), and devised “coaching” tips to share with Matt.

You see, my Friend, Matthew did not want to be recognized as someone who was challenged by the retardation of his mental functions. He did not want to have his physical impairments noted or accommodated. He wanted to be … Matthew; just another guy; a friend; one of “the gang.”

At our neighborhood YMCA … where I weaned Matt from my accompaniment by pointing to the “Members Only Beyond This Point” sign at the entrance to the gym, and told him that he was the Member. I was just his driver and escort. And I had no privileges there … he was the entitled one … none of the many folks, that Matthew established himself with, discussed, or even took notice of, the fact that he had never experienced homework assignments from school … when he discussed, with them, their children’s struggles with homework. He had honed his listening skills to such a lovely degree of empathetic listening that anyone would comfortably believe the illusion that he was in complete understanding of every element of the subject at hand. He simply pushed aside that potential barrier to social intercourse, by focusing on the finer goal of the desired relationship. He was marvelous. He was allowing himself to be! And he became a very self-assured young man. Content in himself, and comfortable with others.

So why, you, my Darling Reader, may well ask, do I tell you all of this? Because, Dear One, I hear so many lamenting their frustrations and disappointments at not achieving what they had expected themselves to achieve. So much moaning and groaning about perceived “failures!” And it is all about stuff that they feel that they “should” (by some mysterious standard either imposed by others [who have no God-given right to either impose; or certainly not to judge], or by some inner demons that inflict demands based on nothing more than self-generated unreasonableness.)

To these I say “How is that human Being coming along? That’s right! You are not a “human doing.” Even machines and devices can do stuff. But only a Being given the marvelous Gift of choice and election can be.” So I ask you to consider following Matthew’s lead. Set aside those impediments to your realization of who you … and only you … can be. And permit your Self to be … that uniquely equipped, individually gifted, and singly able person who has this one-time opportunity to offer our world … You.

I humbly thank you for your patient indulgence with me. Please know that my speaking to you, in this way, is born only of one thing … my genuine and respectful love of … You.

I remain your steadfast Friend and always willing Servant.

Thanksgiving Prayer

2010-11-24T05:46:00.007-05:00

My favorite day of the year. Without qualification, Thanksgiving was always the day that I looked forward to. It represented the pinnacle of familial unity and intimacy. The Norman Rockwell image of Family around the dinner table was my ideal. (And, as an avowed Idealist, this was, for me, no small matter.) [smile]

Hence, when I purchased dining room furnishings, I selected the most accommodating dining table offered by the good folk at Ethan Allen. Substantial English oak and an ability to be expanded to a size that would welcome the entire family was my goal.

And on that annual day of feasting and celebrating, I happily assumed the role of turkey baker/carver, and Host. Then, as we all sat around that grand table laden with magnificent treats and culinary treasures, we would hold hands … bow our heads … and one by one, offer each of our individual statements of prayerful gratitude for our blessings.

Thus it was on that particular Thanksgiving when we were additionally blessed with Matthew … sitting there, between myself and his mother … in his high-chair, and filled with wonder at the presence of an altogether unusual energy and spirit in his home.

His mother followed my reading of a scripture appropriate to the occasion with her start to our Thanksgiving Prayer. Then her Dad, Mother, Brother-in-Law, Sister, and back to me for my benedictory closing. But then, after my “Amen,” there filled the reverent silence, another voice … “M-i-c” … I lifted my head and looked. We all looked. Save Matthew, whose head was still bowed … hands folded in prayer … “k-e-y”. I looked at the others; shrugged; nodded; and we all joined him in his “M-o-u-s-e.” Then Matt lifted his head in complete solemnity and quietude … having offered his contribution of the most reverential and worshipful expression that his darling little soul knew.

And, My Dear Friend and Reader, I fully believe to this day that all of Heaven was stilled and blessed by that dear young Soul’s fervent prayer that day. For I remembered then … and still do … the verse of scripture that teaches us that “Unless you come in the innocent spirit of a little child, you will never know the kingdom of Heaven.”

I lovingly bid you … each and every beautiful One of you … a day of sweet, harmonious joy in the bosom of those with whom you share Love.

Happy Thanksgiving Day Dear One. I do, indeed, love you.

A Post-Script Note: In response to inquiries by some who are not familiar with the Mickey Mouse Club 'Alma Mater' (that Matthew was singing on that far-removed Thanksgiving Day) ... Here 'tis ...

(I will never tire of the many memories stirred by that song ... And I think that you can readily sense the reverent spirit that Matt felt appropriate to our prayerful moment. I hope that you enjoyed it!)

An Autumnal Perspective (with a Chuckle)

2010-11-14T10:26:00.007-05:00

by Michael Fry and T Lewis

(Note: Please click on the Image to enlarge)

For This is Wisdom

2010-11-05T02:07:00.003-04:00

For this is Wisdom; to love, to live,

To take what Fate, or the Gods, may give,

To ask no question, to make no prayer,

To kiss the lips and caress the hair,

Speed passion’s ebb as you greet its flow,

To have ... to hold ... and, in time, ... let go!

LAURENCE HOPE

aka: Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

09 April 1865 - 04 October 1904

IMAGES: SCENES through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com
LAURENCE HOPE Wikipedia

"The Human Touch" revisited

2010-11-02T06:26:00.003-04:00

In this day of applied Programs, Plans, Initiatives, and Systems, there is a void that is all too often left wanting. That want is addressed by this work of Spencer Michael Free. He (from his perspective as a practicing physician) spoke to an elementary requirement of the Human Spirit.

In response to a sweet reminder of this post (thank you Maria), I ask that we consider the power and potential that awaits each of us… if we will but offer our own personal provision of “The Human Touch.”

The Human Touch

'Tis the human touch in this world that counts,

The touch of your hand and mine,

Which means far more to the fainting heart

Than shelter and bread and wine;

For shelter is gone when the night is o’er,

And bread lasts only for a day,

But the touch of the hand and the sound of the voice

Sing on in the soul alway.

Spencer Michael Free (1856-1938)
Free graduated from the College of Physicians and Surgeons of the Johns Hopkins University in 1880, and practiced medicine and surgery for some fifty years thereafter. In addition to some one hundred medical papers, he wrote many poems.

IMAGE: Maria Brandstetter, BBC

Morning Reflection

2010-10-28T22:59:00.002-04:00

Methinks we give Her cause for chortle …
A bit of a grin and a snicker, or a few.
Opening Her eyes with the dawn of a day, new to us.
But only another breath and of no particular significance to Her.

She smiles in patient acknowledgment of our supposed need to worry.
Is not her timeless humour engaged as She sees our angst?
Are we not silly children to believe that our flailings matter?
Can we not see, as She does, how fleeting are our concerns?

Earth stretches herself in boundless expanse, Her end … nowhere.
We fret over the scope of what we see before us.
She giggles the laughter of countless voices in Her infinite continuum.
Whilst we battle to create monuments to our meaningless impulse.

All that is Her expression adjusts and compensates,
realigning Her assets and resources, to sustain our newest affronts.
Whilst Her children greet Her with their songs and their awakenings.
She accepts our foolish indifferences and insults.

Ah, but what bliss would be ours
if we would but see Her in all of Her glory.
If we would only allow ourselves the joy of pause,
acknowledging Her constancy and power …
in humble gratitude.

IMAGES through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

Re-visiting An Interview

2010-10-23T07:20:00.002-04:00

Almost two years ago, I was interviewed by a Contributor, to a Web site that provides "timely, in-depth, trusted medical information, personalized tools and resources, and connections to a vast community of leading experts and patients for people seeking to manage and improve their health."

I looked over the completed interview, and considered the possibility that some, of what was shared there, might be of some benefit to Readers of this site. So, with the blessings of the Contributor, I am posting the complete interview here.

I do hope that You, My Dear Reader, will find some idea or thought to be of use to you as an encouragement, consideration, or, perhaps, a provocation to further thought. I have deleted the name of the medical information site as well as that of the individual mentioned in the Contributor's introduction to the interview. The interview is, otherwise, unedited.

How to Cope
When Your Adult Child has a Physical Disability

I was looking over the questions asked here at [medical information site] and I began to smile as I re-discovered a question from a lady named "[DELETED]." She was worried about her adult son who had been diagnosed with MS. And although the title of her question was: "Can MS affect the ability to match clothing (plaids with stripes) and colors?" the true intent of her question was to be found in reading between the lines.

This was a mom who was worried about her son's disease and how he would manage the potential physical and mental challenges that Multiple Sclerosis could bring. I began to think about this disease from a parent's perspective. No matter how young or old your child is...they are always still your child. How does a parent cope when their child faces the daunting challenge of a physical disability? What is the best way to be of help?

In order to delve more deeply into these questions I have enlisted the help of fellow blogger and self help writer, John Michael. John Michael's extraordinary way of writing stems from having to face his own unique challenges including parenting a son who has cerebral palsy. You may find more of John Michael's insights by visiting his blog authentically entitled, "Just being John Michael." http://justbeingjohnmichael.blogspot.com/

Based upon your life experience, what comfort would you give to a parent who has an adult child who is facing physical challenges?

To begin with, please know that I do not, in even the most remote way, hold my opinions or ideas up as any kind of standard of measure or (God forbid) sort of rule to go by. They are, quite simply, my own perspective and individualized inclinations. That said, I can tell you (and any Parent reading) that my comfort with what Matthew (my son) and I share, in our partnership in life’s challenges, began with my acceptance of, the reality that we all … every living, breathing, struggling one of us, live with our own set of ‘disabilities’ and ‘handicaps.’

While Matt’s are more obvious and clearly pronounced than others’, I have accepted the fact of my responsibility to confront and manage my own … and to help him identify (in the most gentle and tenderly ways possible), and deal with his. I have, simultaneously, allowed my Self to be open to, and receptive to, the difficulties and frustrations in the lives of those whose life-paths intersect mine. And I discuss, with Matt, these obstacles, to ease-of-living, so that he can share, with me, an active appreciation, of the hurdles that beset others. We discuss possible ways that we can compliment and make easier the lives of Friends. And we have conversations centered around our responsibilities, as Human Beings, to the world around us. This has given him a sense of participation and worth, in caring for people along the way … and has (while not spelling out or focusing on his own set of Complications) allowed him to gain a sense of worth as a Care-Giver for others. It, also, takes the intensity of focus off of all of the daily irritations that his cerebral palsy unrelentingly visits upon him.

This “Mechanism” (if you will) has proven to be a ‘tool’ of some considerable worth in my set of ‘coping implements’ … for us both.

How emotionally difficult is it for a parent to see their son or daughter unable to do things that others may take for granted?

The “emotional difficulty” is compounded by the reality that (in Matt’s life) he does not possess the mental acuity to enable him to thoroughly process the complexities of his handicaps. While he is at a high level of what would be labeled as “trainable” (God! How I do hate those labels!) he is obviously vexed by his awareness of the areas of life and living that are part of the experiences of those around him … and his inability to participate or be included in them.

I then, accept the responsibility (inasmuch as I am able) to “feel” and “sense” these vexations for and with him … then translate them into means of communicating to his level of comprehension and appreciation of them … to him. All the while wanting (at my emotional core) to curl up in a corner and weep for him. Emotional exhaustion and an ever-present sense of being emotionally spent has, consequently, been my life-companion.

How does a parent express concern for their child's well being without coming across as overly intrusive or pushy?

In a word … you can’t! Yep! That’s about it. My experience has been that if I am willing to let Individuals or Organizations … whose role or mission in life is to ’administer’ the programs or services (I use the word advisedly) that are intended, by well-meaning Initiators, to reach out to the needs of those who find themselves less than optimally functional … operate at their own discretion or with their own set of priorities … my son will suffer neglect and even some measure of abuse.

Yes, I know that that sounds harsh. And I do wish that it was not the fact. But it has proven, over and over, to be the Reality. But … when I take the active, involved, persistent, and (in the view of some) “overly intrusive or pushy”, I have found that I can cut through the layers of superficial and uncaring individuals and programs … and mine the nuggets of wonderfully committed and professionally devoted gems who give of themselves willingly and thoroughly, for the benefit of those to whom they have dedicated their lives and careers.

So, I make Matt the “Good Guy”, and take the mantle of “Enforcer” upon myself, for his benefit. This has worked out to be most successful and beneficial for all concerned. It gets past the layers of incompetence and wasted time and efforts quite quickly. And gets us to the “good stuff” with a minimum of wasted energy and emotion (which, by virtue of living with this situation, are already in short supply.)

What is the best way for a parent to offer help?

I think that this is most effectively accomplished by becoming a living and breathing part of my son. I have permitted my Self … nay, demanded of my Self … to be … actually and legitimately become an element of my son’s Being. I feel what he is unable to feel. I think what he hasn’t the capacity to think. I sense what he wants to sense, but can not get through the haze, of his brain’s unwillingness to cooperate, to sense. I offer tears when appropriate … whilst not giving in to self-pity. I offer determination … where he is not equipped to be determined for himself … whilst guarding against insensitivity or lack of empathy. All the while recognizing that this commitment to Matt is made at the expense of other life-demands that must be sacrificed (willingly … even happily … and without remorse of bitter regret) for his ultimate benefit.

All too often, I have known parents who let it be known that they are some figure of “Noble Sacrifice” and are ’giving up’ something for their child. Horse hockey! (That’s about as ’cleaned up’ as I can make that. [smile]) Firstly, their child is constantly aware of this added burden upon their shoulders. They hear and sense their parent’s bemoaning of their ’plight’ in life. And that child has this ’gift’ to deal with, in addition to all of the garbage that is incumbent with whatever life has given them.

No! My son’s handicap is something that I accepted, at the very outset (when he was diagnosed, at less than one year old), as Life’s enabling me to grow and develop into far more than I ever would have, otherwise. I had to become more of whatever a man can be … to be what my son needs his father to be. I accepted Life’s challenge to develop Character and Strength that I would never have known without the demands and needs of my son’s circumstances. Matthew has only sensed and known the reality that I am indebted to him for my life’s flourishing. And he has a comfortable and calm assurance that I appreciate him … far beyond his cognitive abilities to reason out those truths.

These are my own perceptions of the best ways that I can be of help to my son … and simultaneously, my Self. Best summed up in ... give. (Which, I suppose, is the best way to benefit any relationship.)

Can you give any advice to the parent who has been seemingly pushed away after offering help to their adult child?

This question stings.

Three years ago, Matthew phoned me and asked me to cease phoning him, and/or seeing him. “When you call or we are together, it upsets Mom. And that makes me nervous. And I can’t deal with it.” he said. Understanding his Mom’s temperament and personality (which I have [Thank Goodness] taken a good deal of time and invested a considerable amount of effort in studying), I understood what he was saying. So, I agreed. And said, “Goodbye.”

Because I have an absolute certainty that Matt’s ability to make that phone call to me was born of all that we accomplished over the thirty two years prior to the call … and I know the stresses and tensions that he was referencing (after twenty years of marriage to his Mom) … and my certainty that I can look Life full in ’the face’ and give an honest account of my Self, and my having given absolutely all of all that I had of Me, to him … I have accepted, and respect, his choice.

For me to demand some form or sort of “Parental Rights” in maintaining contact with Matt, would be an exercise in selfishness. It would be at the expense of his comfort and tranquility. And it would serve no purpose other than negative ones, including putting him in the center of a tug-of-war that would render no possible benefit of value. So, I have had no contact with the Son who I spent every week-day, of every year, after he ’graduated’ from school (9 years) … for nearly three years now. Hence the “sting.”

In your experience of parenting your own child who has a physical disability, what was the hardest aspect for you?

The loneliness.

What gave you the greatest joy in parenting your son?

The day that he looked at me and said “My brain doesn’t cooperate sometimes.” It was a bitter-sweet moment in which he attained the level of acknowledging his challenges. This represented a heartbreak in our joining of awareness … and the joy of his readiness to deal with some of his own frustrations.

Last thoughts?

Life is … ultimately and beautifully .. GOOD!

Kinship in Spirit

2010-10-16T00:47:00.002-04:00

As I enjoyed the televised travel show, I was impressed with the ceaseless supplications, transmitted by these Prayer Flags, on the pathway up to the Bhutan's Taktshang ("tiger's nest") Monastery.

I was glad for a better understanding of the concept of ongoing Prayers being carried heavenward on the bits of constantly-disintegrating fabrics. In this, I was reminded of the Scriptures’ “Pray without ceasing” admonition." In these Prayer Flags, I saw a physical manifestation of that directive. I appreciated further personal enlightenment in hearing the Commentator’s explanation of the Belief that each Individual achieves “higher Karma” through their commitment to climbing upward, in their arduous ascension toward the ‘Holy Site’ of this Monastery. And here I found a like Truth in “Take up your burden and follow …” as presented in so many various forms of exhortation, toward disciplined Discipleship, in scripture. I saw Unity in intent, purpose, and expression here.

My ‘virtual’ pilgrimage served (through the presentation by “Travels to the Edge”), to weave, yet more tightly, threads of Truth, into the Fabric of spiritual unity between Faiths. Truth, offered through the perspectives of authors of the Bible … in complete harmony with the very same Truth demonstrated in the utilization of these Prayer Flags placed by faithful followers of the Buddhist Faith. Both aware of some whispered inner Voice that communicates to them the Message that says, “It is good to always maintain a reverential and prayerful attitude toward that Power that created Us ... All." And Each responding, in methods and forms, in keeping with their particular worlds.

How beautiful is this demonstration of our kinship in spiritual awareness! And how blessed we are when we can accept personal growth and validation of our cultural and societal interpretations, and expressions of our individual spiritual sense … through one another’s shared methodologies. Prayers … whether expressed in whispered words, or bits of flags that send their messages heavenward … are one and the same. Our Souls’ expression of all that we know the need to render. Ever more clearly … we are Kin with each other. Or so it seems to my Understanding.

IMAGE: National Geographic Society

Minister of Manure

2010-10-09T11:44:00.002-04:00

It was in those sacred hours of early-morning quietness on a day that found me in the throws of a frustrated and discouraged struggle with my spirit. (I find these times that are without interruption or distraction an ideal time for dialogue with my Maker.) On this particular occasion, I was engaged in some strong bemoaning regarding my lifetime of losses, failures, frustrations and disappointments.

“Dear Father, I know that all that has occurred in my life has a purpose. I, as You see clearly in my heart of hearts, have complete confidence in Your control and purpose for my life. But, Father, with all due respect, I would surely appreciate some illumination on the picture of my life. It seems to me that everything in my life, every relationship, every career choice, every circumstance that this world uses to measure ‘success’ has turned to ‘dung’.” (I must note that I did not actually use the word ‘dung’ in that discussion, but I can be far more candid in my conversations with the Creator than would be proper in this text.) “So please give me some understanding of the relevance of this life of wasted effort that I have invested so much in.” Then came, by way of that distinctly clear inner Voice, His response.

“This place, known to you as your personal world, is My Garden. I manage the preparations, the plantings, the nurturing, the pruning, and the harvest. You are quite right, all of your past could well be summarized, by the unknowing, as an accumulation of ‘dung’ (He used my actual descriptive term.) But, John-Michael, if you will agree to place that pile of waste at my disposal, I will direct you to those of my special ‘plants’ in My garden that are readied by circumstance (at My direction) for nourishment. Your ‘dung’ can become very valuable ‘manure’ for beneficial use or, at your option, can remain a smelly pile of unpleasant waste. What you must be willing to accept is the reality that it may not be your role in my garden to be the prize blossom or the award winning produce. What is required of you is your willingness to be the nurturing and sustaining dispenser of the manure of your experience and insight for the production of successes in others.”

“Oh, so I am being called to the ‘Ministry of Manure’” I laughingly responded. “Quite right” He affirmed, and we laughed together. (It is a good thing to laugh with the Almighty.) And so it has been for a decade or better now. I am most content to be His designated Minister of Manure in the small patch of Life’s garden in which I live.

IMAGE: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

Flexible Containers

2010-10-08T05:33:00.003-04:00

With our environment of language, and practice, as the "container" and the truths that Life brings to to us as '‘substance'’ for our "containing"... might it not behoove us to be reminded that the container is not the measure of the quality of the substance contained, and should be readily reconsidered, when the demands of the substance, outweigh the capacity of the vessel.

It seems appropriate then, with the understanding that the confines of religious practice, nomenclature, ritual, and dogma are but Man's feeble attempts to encapsulate and express spiritual truths that transcend the bounds of earthly abilities ... it might be a good idea (as spiritual insight and awareness grow and develop) to adjust, modify, reconstruct, refresh, revise, and/or discard those practices, rituals, nomenclature, and/or dogma (containers) that no longer accommodate our evolving Awareness (substance)?

Ah, the joy of freedom in expressing new truths and understandings in an environment of healthy, positive, and dynamic enthusiasm!

John-Michael
(Originally penned: 11 August 1998)

IMAGE: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

Painful Presumptions

2010-10-05T06:58:00.003-04:00

As with the previous post, I have offered this one before ... a bit over a couple of years ago being the most recent. But it is something that resonates within me, and I want to offer it to that those who are newer Readers. Again, with apologies to my lovely Friends who have seen it before ... here 'tis ...

Pre-sume /verb/ suppose that something is the case on the basis of probability
[The New Oxford American Dictionary]

He went forward on the presumption that He had the necessary understanding of the situation to equip himself for success. The elderly Gentleman (assumed to be the next-door neighbor) told him that after the locked door was overcome with the assistance of the ax (offered by the Gentleman for that task) He would encounter some resistance due to the rug that the occupant of the house customarily kept rolled up against the door as a deterrent to cold draught. And, indeed, after smashing the lock mechanism with said ax, He did, in fact, realize a firm, but yielding, resistance quite natural to a heavy rug. Hence, after persuading the rug to allow the opening of the door for a distance barely sufficient for his body to crawl through, he flattened himself to the floor and projected himself into the smoke-filled room and made his first attempt to evaluate the situation.

Having never before confronted a burning building, He was encouraged by the realization that the long ago learned (from sources not remembered) theory that there would be a space at floor level where the smoke would be eight or ten inches above the floor itself. And surely this was the reality that He encountered, as into that narrow space He crawled, and inched toward the room where He could clearly see the flames hungrily consuming every element and surface. This was the room that the neighbor had told him that the three children were normally in. Three small children who had been left by their mother who had gone for a quick visit to the store that was but around the corner. Three small children whose voices had been heard screaming for help just a short while before He had appeared upon the scene.

And now He was trying, through the acrid, oxygen-starved haze of that narrow corridor at floor level, to locate the children. Back out of the room He came to recharge his lungs with air. Choking, spitting, and coughing out disgusting remnants of that life-denying gas, He steeled himself for another entry. Again, He pushed past the rug-impaired opening and extended himself still further into the kitchen and toward what seemed to be the now fully consumed dining area of this small tinderbox of a dwelling. No luck … nothing … not a single child in sight and the heated chemical residue of all that the flames were converting into toxic gases scalded his eyes and his throat.

Back out, across the tiny deck that served as the back porch and into the small yard that was itself becoming engulfed in the stench of the fog from the fire. This time the neighbor was there with water (from some source that was not noticed) and offered to cool and wash his face. The water was gratefully accepted and used to wet his handkerchief, which He placed over his now-parched mouth and nose for his last foray into the hellhole of that inferno. He could only think of three small children who had not been heard from nor seen for what was beginning to seem like forever. Cursing the weight of that damned rug for its bulky resistance, He pushed yet again into now known territory and this time beyond until his lungs demanded retreat. Failure! With the mucous of a pulmonary system ridding itself of intruding threats pouring from his mouth, his nose, and even his eyes, He heard the arrival of the fire fighters.

To the first Firefighter to come into the back yard (where He and the, now still and silent, ancient neighbor stood) He yelled the information that He presumed to be a statement of all pertinent facts. The Firefighter gave him a look that was a puzzlement to him though it lasted but a fraction of a second. Then, to his astonishment, this huge (or so he seemed, clothed, as he was, in all of his fire-fighting equipment) fellow simply took a seat on that self-same tiny porch. The Man just sat there … “How absurd” He thought. He had just moments before used that surface as a launch area for entry into the chamber of unspeakable horror. “How can he be simply taking a seat and not doing anything?” He thought and wanted to scream.

Then … calmly … with measured deliberation … that Fireman leaned back, reached behind himself, around the still-open door, and, obviously (from the grimace of effort registered on his face) grasped that rug that had thrice been such an impediment to the would-be Rescuer, and pulled forth ... not a rug … oh no … a small boy! Cradling the inert form in his arms and hurrying toward the waiting medical equipment at the front of the blazing structure, the professional Angel of Mercy looked at the pair of dumbstruck observers and said “The children always go to the nearest door … and that’s where we usually find them.”

He had gone past that child three times. He had presumed the bulky weight to be what He had been told to expect there. He had presumed that He had all of the information necessary to do his best for the best outcome. He was ignorant of unknown probabilities. It is now thirty-seven years later and He still feels … really senses an actual awareness of the soft, ungiving weight of that little boy’s body as He pushed against it. He had cursed it for its impediment to his efforts to reach the children. Every time He now hears or sees a fire truck on its way to affect a rescue He instantly relives that moment. That boy would be somewhere around forty five years old now … but he is not. He never had a chance to be. And I … that’s right, I … will never stop regretting the presumptions that I made that day.

If there were no other reason for my efforts to share my perspectives … my ‘lessons learned’ … my little insights into this business of life ... the provision of an expanded set of possibilities for your consideration would be reason enough. I will do everything that I can to equip you with a wider understanding; a broader scope of outlook; an awareness of a more useful set of possibilities for your use in your entering into whatever areas of unknowns that present themselves to you. I can never accept the possibility that my reticence could leave you vulnerable to the pain, the unhappiness, the disappointment of missing the potential blessing of any experience … because your presumptions were left minus an expanded scope of possibilities that I could have offered you.

When I pledge myself to you as “Your Friend and Servant” (as I so frequently do) there is always, in my Soul, an awareness of the weight of some ‘rug’ against which you may be pushing in your life. And I must help you see the life potentials that could be there if only you know where to reach … what to grasp … perhaps, how to react.

To that end, I remain, as always, Your faithful Friend and willing Servant,

John-Michael
(originally penned 29July2005)

(IMAGEs: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com)

Rum-Raisin Ice Cream

2010-10-02T09:31:00.000-04:00

It was in May of 2008 when I last shared, this bit of perspective, with those who honor me with their attention. Since then, I am blessed with new Friends, and Readers, who have not read it. So, with apologies to those for whom this is a 'repeat,' Here is something that I still have strong feelings about.

I do not like Rum-Raisin Ice-cream.

There, I’ve said it.

There is nothing more to say on the matter (yet you and I know that there will, most assuredly, be more said.)

You see, Dear Friend, I do not begrudge anyone else their preference for Rum-Raisin Ice-cream. I hold no grudge against that flavor. There resides no bitterness in my soul toward the combination of elements that constitute that particular blend. I would never counsel anyone to disallow themselves the opportunity to sample that product nor would I undertake to undermine that dessert’s place in the universe of food products.

It is, quite simply, a fact that my own, personal, individual, particularly unique taste buds do not enjoy Rum-Raisin Ice-cream. And that is perfectly all right for there are myriad other choices offering themselves for my delight.

Yet... when my Friend of many years informed me, some time ago, that she is hesitant to allow herself to openly and publicly be my friend because of her children’s (all grown adults) reservations about me, I was disappointed. My big old twenty stone (sounds so much better than the equivalent in pounds) of feelings got themselves hurt. Why? Because ... (here is where I identify with Rum-Raisin Ice Cream) ... I am who I am. She doesn’t understand why I can’t mitigate myself to accommodate the sensitivities of her children. “Aren’t you denying them the opportunity to know you by insisting on Being you?” she asked. “Why can’t you soften up your presentation of yourself?” “They think that you are being ‘phony’ because you come on with such gusto.”

But who will they know if I present another image to them? Will the presentation of a ‘moderated’ me be an honest portrayal? Yet my friend persisted in the idea that we must ‘respect’ other people’s ‘space’ by adopting behavior that accommodates their sensitivities.

I lived the first four decades of my life in the daily practice of ‘accommodation.’ I was never relaxed. Every encounter was a ‘performance’ for the benefit and to gain the acceptance of, or create comfort for, my ‘Audience.’ This was as true with an Audience of one, as it was with a large gathering in some public meeting place. Consequently, no one (including myself) knew Me. I had no intimate relationships. There existed no place where I could go to, firstly, know who I was for my own knowledge and, secondly, to be that Person in comfort. The accepted social norm was that this was (and is) proper. I now reject that norm (for myself.) I also embrace the consequences resulting from that rejection.

One of those consequences is the reality that I will be (and am) sometimes rejected as a Person. That too is absolutely OK. For my Dear Reader, Rum-Raisin Ice-cream is not for everyone. But it is there for the individuals who have a preference for it and find enjoyment in indulging in its particular delights. And the Friendships that I now enjoy, I enjoy without reservation, in all of the intimate, passionate, and exuberant freedom, that is to be found, in Being the genuine ME.

(Don't you just love all of Life's available Flavours!?)

(NOTE: If You have been reading my stuff since February of last year, first,thank you for your kindness! Secondly, Yes! you have, indeed seen this piece before (March 2007.) But I like it! And I like to "run it up the flag pole" around this time each year (ice cream season is upon us!) So, if nothing else, maybe it will inspire a visit to your favorite ice cream parlor. [smile])

IMAGE Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

Your Soul’s Theme Song

2010-09-30T11:15:00.002-04:00

How long has it been since your soul was so full and overflowing that you simply had to sing? Yesterday? This morning? Last year? Never!? Well, for me, it happens only rarely. And what stirs and awakens this response in me? Why, that could just as easily be a circumstance, perhaps a season, a recollection, something read or experienced, or, of course, the touch of Another. But when it is a moment of celebrating the living of all that is ... right then ... I have one song that expresses my Heart's happiness with the joys of that instant.

And this is how it has been for me for as long as I can remember. When I am stirred, I sing. I recall my daughter declaring “You are depressed! Whenever you are depressed, you sing.” on some no-longer-recalled occasion. And I remember thinking, at the time … and again, now … how very sad that she has only made note of my "singing inclination" and observed my singing in settings that she interpreted as depressed or melancholy. How unfortunate that she was not with me in the isolated moments when I was given cause to sing for joy. If only she could know the exuberance of my song when I was first presented with what has become my Soul’s "Love Celebration" theme song. I recall, quite vividly, opening that envelope and finding within, the three-by-five index cards with the lyrics typed as an expression of the feelings of their Presenter. How I did sing that song … over and over … that day, and for many days (and years) to follow!

I recall that morning, as I went about my work, and found myself singing that very song. Freely and with complete abandon, I styled, modified, varied, and adjusted the tempo, key, even some lyrics, to my immediate taste. And, with unabashed gusto, I sang out my challenge to the early-morning chorus of birds. “Stand aside boys … you have competition this morning!" And I sang.

So, the question arises … What is, or would be (if you were so inclined) your Soul’s theme song? What melody would carry your spirit in a comfortable representation of your Spirit’s fondest emotion? What lyrics would translate the message of the desires of your heart into the atmosphere? And when will you be singing it next? And what are you doing … right now… to bring that to pass?

All worthy considerations as you and I share in that song given to me on that lovely day, by that lovely and loving Gift from Life. It was made famous by the New Christy Minstrels in 1964, and was given to me, on that little index card (back in 1973) that, over the course of many years, became worn to the point of disintegration. Here (as you listen to The New Christy Minstrels sing) are the words to “Today”… as I bid you the very best of your Today. (Go ahead ... sing along ... I am.) [smile]

Today
Words & Music by Randy Sparks
Recorded by New Christy Minstrels, 1964

Today while the blossoms still cling to the vine,

I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine;

A million tomorrows shall all pass away

Ere I forget all the joy that is mine today.

I'll be a dandy and I'll be a rover,

You'll know who I am by the song that I sing.

I'll feast at your table, I'll sleep in your clover,

Who cares what tomorrow may bring.

Today while the blossoms still cling to the vine

I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine;

A million tomorrows shall all pass away

Ere I forget all the joy that is mine today.

I can't be contented with yesterday's glories,

I can't live on promises winter to spring.

Today is my moment and now is my story --

I'll laugh and I'll cry and I'll sing.

Today while the blossoms still cling to the vine,

I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine;

A million tomorrows shall all pass away

Ere I forget all the joy that is mine Today.

IMAGES: (Rose Vine) Univ. of Chicago; (Strawberries) Christine's Pies; (Wine) Earth's Best E Books; (Feast) National Maritime Museum; (Clover) Roundrock Journal

By Whatever Name ... In Every Way

2010-09-27T04:47:00.006-04:00

The heart of a Father soars
at the first unintelligible sounds of loving recognition
from his infant child.

He requires no lofty phrases of oratory …
no declaration of profound allegiance
or obedient devotion.

His joyful acceptance
of this simplest, unadorned, adoration and trust
is without reservation or qualification.

This is true in the lands and regions
of all of humankind.

Language, custom, tradition, and setting
have no dilutive effect
on this timeless dynamic.

So it was with those first recognitions
of an awesome Power …
some inexplicable Source …
by earliest Man.

He expressed his sense of wonder and awe
in scratchings on wood, stone, or earth.

He gave vent to his need for expression
through ritual and ceremony …
with dance, song, and works of artful display.

The Father of all that is
cannot have been any less affected
by these efforts to speak,
than any father regarding his child.

A touch; a look; a sound from an adoring child
is always appropriate and correct
in the heart of its father.

I am certain that the “I Am” hears
the absolute, unadulterated message, from the Worshiper,
when addressed as Allah, God, Yahweh, Vishnu,
or through the rhythms from a ceremonial log.

This surely has been … and, forever will be, so.

John-Michael

27 September 2010

"Greater Love Hath No Man ..."

2010-09-26T08:34:00.010-04:00

Meet The Man Who Sneaked Into Auschwitz
by NPR Staff

September 18, 2010

This weekend marks the 70th anniversary of a World War II milestone few people have heard before. It's the story of a Polish army captain named Witold Pilecki.

In September 1940, Pilecki didn't know exactly what was going on in Auschwitz, but he knew someone had to find out. He would spend two and a half years in the prison camp, smuggling out word of the methods of execution and interrogation. He would eventually escape and author the first intelligence report on the camp.

The Mystery Of Auschwitz

In the early years of the war, little was known about the area near the town Germans called Auschwitz.

Poland was in a state of chaos. It was divided in half — Nazi Germany claiming one side, Soviet Russia on the other. The Polish resistance had gone underground.

Pilecki wanted to infiltrate the Auschwitz camp, but he had difficulty getting commanders to sign off on the mission. At the time, it was thought of as POW camp.

"They didn't realize the information from inside the camp was that vital," says Ryszard Bugajski, a Polish filmmaker who directed the 2006 film The Death of Captain Pilecki.

Pilecki was eventually cleared to insert himself into a street round-up of Poles in Warsaw on Sept. 19, 1940. Upon arrival, he learned Auschwitz was far from anything the Resistance had imagined.

Life As A Number

"Together with a hundred other people, I at least reached the bathroom," Pilecki's Auschwitz report reads. "Here we gave everything away into bags, to which respective numbers were tied. Here our hair of head and body were cut off, and we were slightly sprinkled by cold water. I got a blow in my jaw with a heavy rod. I spat out my two teeth. Bleeding began. From that moment we became mere numbers — I wore the number 4859."

That was a small and early number for a camp that would — one year later — see numbers in the 15,000s.

Alex Storozynski, president and executive director of the Kosciuszko Foundation, tells NPR's Mike Pesca that one of the early signs of Auschwitz's true purpose to Pilecki was the prisoners' diet. "The food rations were calculated in such a way that people would live for six weeks," Storozynski says.

Here's Pilecki's description of what a German officer told him: " 'Whoever will live longer — it means he steals. You will be placed in a special commando, where you will live short.' This was aimed to cause as quick a mental breakdown as possible."

Smuggling Out Word Of The Horrors Within

Pilecki was assigned to backbreaking work — carrying rocks in a wheelbarrow. But he also managed to gather intelligence on the camp and smuggle messages out with prisoners who escaped. SS soldiers assigned Poles to take their laundry into town, and sometimes messages could be smuggled along with the dirty clothes to be passed to the underground Polish army.

"The underground army was completely in disbelief about the horrors," Storozynski explains. "About ovens, about gas chambers, about injections to murder people — people didn't believe him. They thought he was exaggerating."

Pilecki also hoped to organize an attack and mass escape from the camp. But no order could be procured for such a plan from Polish high command.
"We were waiting for an order, as we understood that without such one — although it would be a beautiful firework and unexpected for the world and for Poland — we could not agree to do that," Pilecki wrote.

For the next two and a half years, Pilecki slowly worked to feed his reports up the Polish chain of command to London.

"And in London," Storozynski says, "the Polish government in exile told the British and the Americans, 'You need to do something. You need to bomb the train tracks going to these camps. Or we have all these Polish paratroopers — drop them inside the camp. Let them help these people break out.' But the British and the Americans just wouldn't do anything."

Pilecki's Escape

Eventually, after nearly three years, Pilecki reported, "further stay here might be too dangerous and difficult for me."

He planned an escape through a poorly secured back door in a bakery, where he'd managed to get a job. With a few other inmates, he ran into the night.
"Shots were fired behind us," he wrote. "How fast we were running, it is hard to describe. We were tearing the air into rags by quick movements of our hands."

After his escape, Pilecki continued to fight in the underground. But after the war, the Germans were replaced by a new occupying regime — the Soviets. Pilecki was again asked to gather intelligence, this time on the ways in which the communists were establishing themselves in Poland.

Filmmaker Bugajski explains, "He was actually captured by the communists, he was accused of espionage, and he was shot."

A Story Revealed — At Last

There's a reason many Americans have never heard the story of Witold Pilecki's infiltration of Auschwitz. The communist regime in Poland censored any mention of his name in the public record — a ban that remained in place until the fall of the Berlin wall.

Only since then have documents emerged that reveal his story — and that allowed Bugajski to accurately portray it in his film.

That film ends with an epilogue, as the actor who plays Pilecki, Marek Probosz, walks outside the same prison where Pilecki was executed.

"To our surprise, we see that this is free Poland," Probosz explains. "That you can talk about Pilecki, and no one is going to spit in your face or stab you with a knife."

Today there is a street in Warsaw named after Pilecki. A square might be named after him, too.

"Having a beautiful wife and two kids he loved dearly, he decided to leave them behind and go to Auschwitz." Probosz says. "Human beings were the most precious thing for Pilecki, and especially those who were oppressed. He would do anything to liberate them, to help them."

This article is from NPR and can be seen (or LISTENed to)
HERE

I Bid You "Good Morning"

2010-09-24T00:01:00.005-04:00

As I allow this Image to speak to me, I am immersed in Yo Yo Ma's interpretation of "The Main Theme from Once Upon A Time In The West." I happily share this experience with You, my Darling Reader ... and bid You a "Good Morning!"

Hush

2010-09-18T05:36:00.003-04:00

As I consider this image, I hear the Master of life speaking to Nature, and instructing Her to "Hush ... still all of the noises ...but do it gently, and with soft loveliness."

Which, then, reminded me of a piece that I wrote a couple of years ago
.

Hush Me

I am speaking too much.
My enthusiasm is intrusive.
This Energy I radiate, I know, is tiring.
So, please, just ‘hush me.’

Only one finger, across my lips,
Or to the end of my chin,
Will draw my attention to your eyes.
And they will just ‘hush me.’

When I ask too much.
Delve too deeply.
Suggest too frequently.
I beg you … just ‘hush me.’

Draw my arm close to your side.
Place your head against my shoulder.
Take my hand in the tenderness of yours.
My heart will draw to you, and just ‘hush me.’

I can sing ... I can dance;
Devise all sort of elaborate plans;
Make noble statements ... proclaiming my Love.
All goes still and silent … when you just ‘hush me.’

John-Michael

23 March 2008

IMAGE through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

Seeing the Blossoms Amongst the Thorns

2010-09-17T18:52:00.005-04:00

My thoughts, in March of 07 (when I first posted this bit) were on the confluence of four separate streams of truth, contributed by sources, both of today and many yesterdays. Here is what I said then (illustrated with images of a terribly inhospitable-looking plant which offers (if One notices) heavenly blossoms in the midst of its life-protecting thorns)...

My thoughts today are the confluence of four separate streams of truth contributed by sources both of today and many yesterdays. I am grateful to Life for my conversation with SA wherein I offered something akin to “All you need do is ... BE available ... to the new and desired circumstances that Life will bring to your awareness.” Her response was “And I will not be available if I am busy with the old and undesirable. Right?” And she was, of course, quite right.

Then I was given the gift (recently) of a vehicle-to-vehicle visit (him, on his way to work … me, finishing my newspaper deliveries) with BLY and his offering of “It’s all good … all you have to do is find it.” He then smiled a knowing smile and added “There! That will give you something to ponder.” And I admitted, to him, that I would, indeed, ponder that thought (or, as he added further “That will be a new cud for you to chew.” as he smiled again and drove away toward his work place, and I continued on my newspaper delivery route.) Life was, once again, speaking through the insights and in the inspired voices of special Lives in my world.

By the time that I had finished my delivery duties, I was certain of what I am obliged to offer to you, My Dear Reader, today. Four elements from four sources (two of whom I have already revealed.) The other two are the biblical psalmist, and Dr. Alfred Adler (both of whom I have quoted in previous messages to you.)

Beginning with SA’s “And I will not be available if I am busy with the old and undesirable.” I reflect on those imperatives that demand the attention of our minds, and insist on the focus of our activities, in our daily walk. These imperatives are (for the most part) forces that we are not even conscious of.

They are instilled in, and reinforced in, us by voices (often well-intentioned and genuinely caring) demanding our attention. From our earliest moments of life we have concerned individuals warning us against (what could be) threats to our 'success' in life. Voices of family, peers, significant others of all sorts and description. All insisting that we conform, adhere, and mold ourselves to their perspectives on every element of our lives. For they have the "experience" and know what is "Best" for us. I liken them to the thorns of life. Those aspects, of our daily existence, that warn us of life’s threats and survival demands … but have, as well, their own potential for inflicting emotional, physical, material (and even psychological) harm if not balanced with what BLY referred to as the “all good.” Those traits, idiosyncratic gifts and unique talents that are Life's Gift to our individuality. (And, please note, I do not discount the element of necessity to hearing and respecting these voices … to ignore the “thorns” of life [those potential 'pit-falls' of bad habits and practices] and would be nothing short of foolhardy. Thorns are, by their very nature and design, early warning systems and defense mechanisms necessary to survival. But they are NOT the Mission of the Plant.)

For, My Darling Reader, to internalize the thorns to the exclusion of Blossoms … the “all good” of life … is to create an inner Monster that will cripple and slowly devour us. I cannot count the number of individuals, who I have had opportunity to share life's walk with, who have had themselves damaged, stunted, lamed, and/or (at the very least) hindered by the words and actions of significant others in their lives. Thus triggering their survival responses of focusing solely on the threat of supposed thorns of inadequacy, self-worthlessness, incompetence or other limiting mind-traps. This produces a constant fear of, and attention to avoidance of, these sets of perceived flaws. Thus making their lives a miserable succession of unhappy attempts to overcome self-imposed shackles of Self denial and devaluation. And they, in that state, are not “available” to the beauty and joy of the other presence in their lives. The Presence that has shared their living moments ... unseen and even unsuspected. The Blossoms that are their unrealized Glory. And The Blossom is the purpose of that 'Plant' in Life's 'garden,' that is ... us!

Those blossoms of talents, gifts, abilities, and personality traits that are right there all the while … but have not entered into what Dr. Adler called “our realm of phenomenological awareness.” That is to say … those phenomena that are the always-present “good” do not even exist to our awareness when our focus is locked on the “thorn” which becomes the entirety of our existence. Great is my joy when I can reveal a glimpse of their Bloom to someone who has been languishing without a prior awareness of its presence. When I can awaken and expand the view of One whose vision has been blinded by the thorn-meisters in their life.

So, I must slightly amend BLY’s thought to read, instead, “It’s all good… all you have to do is be available to it.” And … yes, the thorns … the details … the demands … the necessities of life are also good and proper in life’s balance. And therein lies the key … BALANCE. All that we know (and all that we have yet to discover) is created in a wonderful balance and with a glorious purpose. This I am absolutely certain of, Dear Friend.

Thus, I can, once again, present the imperative of the Psalmist; “Be still… and know.” Please stop the repetition of behaviors that leave no opportunity for awareness of the new. Please permit yourself the refreshment of discovery of the “all good” that has always been present … waiting for your acknowledgment and celebration. Those undiscovered or unrealized talents ... your own abilities to 'see' life differently ... and communicate that fresh perspective to your personal world ... those who are hungry for what you ... and only you have to offer. Still yourself … step off of the treadmill of habit, custom, and familiarity … and breathe in a fresh breath of the “all goodness” awaiting your appreciation and embracing. Give your Self the gift of the complete You. BLY is quite right … “It is all good.” SA is quite right … “I will not be available if I am busy with the old and undesirable.” May YOU be available to that better Self ... just waiting within your Person ... for recognition.

NAMASTE

IMAGES through the gracious courtesy of Jon Sullivan, PDPhoto.org

Childishly Silly

2010-09-16T16:59:00.004-04:00

I am, daily, deleting all of the several newspapers, from around the world, that I currently subscribe to. I simply can not bear any more heart rending input. My emotions are frazzled and worn to depletion.

But I do check in on the "pictures" section of the BBC News site. For I often find images that inspire and/or lighten my spirit. Here is one, from the Associated Press, that triggered a childishly silly caption in my mind ... I do enjoy Childishly Silly!

"Crow, Crow, Crow Your Boat ... "

I know ... it's REALLY BAD! ... (but it DID make you smile)

IMAGE: AP, BBC News

Relationships

2010-09-15T07:41:00.000-04:00

I have found myself discussing relationships lately. Several friends have raised issues, questions, uncertainties, and dilemmas stemming from what they struggle with in their efforts to define, sustain, and develop what they consider to be their “relationships.” In the vortex of all that society, family, friends, religion, and community offer as definitions and opinions… I tend to want to simplify. And, for me, the most simple place to start defining and understanding something is in the name given it. So I refer to “relationship”... that defining word applied to that thing that we so desperately want to get right.

Re-la-tion-ship/ noun:
1.The condition or fact of being related; connection or association.
2. Connection by blood or marriage; kinship.
3. A particular type of connection existing between people related to or having dealings with each other.

Did you notice the repeated use of one word in each of these definitions? There is the presence of a “connection” in all three aspects of relationship mentioned. Telling us that a connection (a “being joined, fastened, or united together”) is integral to the existence of a relationship. Hence, I frequently terminate discussions about supposed relationships by pointing out the often obvious fact that there is no relationship to discuss; inasmuch as there is no "unity, fastening, or state of being joined" existing between the parties in question. “Cold!” you say... I say realistic. Call it what it is… or in those instances… is not. Why beat yourself up with the imposition of a set of expectations and requirements applied to a situation labeled “a relationship” when a simple and honest look at the facts evident would demonstrate the reality that the supposed relationship simply does not exist? The parties do not “relate” (“establish or demonstrate a connection between”) with each other.

Does “going out with”, or being “engaged to be married (betrothed)”, or even being “legally married” establish a relationship? (I can hear the “delete” buttons clicking already) I say "no!" Why do I say "no"? Because I pay attention. I see. I hear. I take note of the countless afore-labeled situations that demonstrate the glaring absence of any connectedness. “Two people walking alone… together” is the quote that applies to far too many who are going about (please pay attention here) DO-ing the stuff, the activities, the scripted performances expected of those in “relationships“… all the while, never BE-ing connected in a dynamic of relating to one another.

So, My Dear Reader, I humbly ask that you… today… in this moment that is ours… you reading what I am writing… stop worrying about how you can “work on your relationship.” Please, I beg of you, look first to the question of your having a relationship within which to “work.” Stop searching for what you can DO to improve something that must BEgin with BEing related… that is being connected (joined, fastened, united.) For, as those of you who are familiar with that old drum upon which I so often beat the cadence of my soul’s message know… this thing, known to us as life, is more about what we BE and far less about what we DO. Remember… we are human BEings not human DOings. So, let us first consider being related; being joined in purposeful and accommodatingly respectful union; being fastened together in an agreed upon oneness of purpose… and then, as life serves up its inevitable assortment of opportunities, we can do those things that are made easier… even pleasurable… in a healthy and joyful relationship.

And a note to those of us (myself certainly included) who catch ourselves all too often envying those about us who are in a relationship. Look again… more closely… and listen to a voice with the scar tissue of experience on its soul… when I ask you “Are they really joined together in a relationship with its fundamentally required unity, or are they "two people walking alone together?” And is anything more painful than being that kind of alone?

It all begins with BEing that particularly wonderful individual that you were specifically created to BE. BEgin there.

Not 'AnyOne' ... 'SomeOne'

2010-09-14T17:00:00.001-04:00

“So, why do you want to be alone? Do you not wish to be with anyone?” I was asked. “Oh no! Please understand. It is not my wish, to be alone.

I want very much to be with 'SomeOne'. But if I was with 'AnyOne,' it would only be an uncomfortable reminder, that I am not with that 'SomeOne'.” I answered.

Now, as I reflect on that brief exchange, I consider that You too (as You read these few, simple words) may want to be with your 'SomeOne' at this moment. But circumstance (or perhaps the fruits of previous life choices) have conspired to leave you alone ... with a discriminating disinclination to be with 'AnyOne'.

So, I write, that You may know ...
You are not alone in your Moment.

IMAGES: "Alone" Maxine Kahn, BBC; "SomeOne" Darkroom 11

I Must Sing

2010-09-13T18:39:00.001-04:00

I must sing.
Sometime in Solo … a cappella …
In Chamber of silent solitude.
No bell, chime, or chord to establish a tone.
Neither harmonies of support nor Unison Partner.
But singly … solely responding to my Soul’s demand.

I must sing.
And fly on wings, of celebratory currents.
Rejoicing in Choir, and sustained by Orchestral might …
A chorus of like-spirited Souls …
And Orchestra of harmonious circumstance.
Glorious, yet so rare, these moments of oneness with others.

I must sing.
For silence is no option.
I will not be stilled, by absence of support …
Nor will I allow the pressings of life, to silence me.
My world cries for an elevating theme …
And each life encountered, longs for a song.

John-Michael
22 October 2008

Generosity of Spirit

2010-09-11T06:28:00.000-04:00

"It is the individual who is not interested in his fellow men who has the greatest difficulties in life and provides the greatest injury to others." ALFRED ADLER

Many years ago, I found myself kneeling at the finish line, on a track with six lanes of “runners” coming toward me … my camera at the ready … cheering the Runner progressing toward me in the lane that I occupied … and feeling the tug at my heart-strings as I saw him falling further and further behind the competitors in the five other lanes. The runner was my son. The event was one of several that he was competing in as part of the annual Special Olympics (a version of athletic competition tailored to the special limitations [all mentally impaired to differing degrees … some physically impaired] of its participants.) My son has cerebral palsy and the portions of his brain effected result in a moderate impairment of his intellectual functions as well as a minimal impairment of his hips, and legs. He was, on that day, the only participant in that race who relied in the services of crutches. And it was due to this limitation that he was losing ground to the other competitors.

My role, in all of this, was to subtly assist him in maintaining a focus on his own lane so that he would not drift off into the adjoining lanes. (That challenge of "focus" being one of the aspects of his impairment.) I accomplished this (without causing him the embarrassment that would accompany an obvious display of my intentions) by appearing to be intent on photographing him as he raced. I could see the growing dismay in his eyes as he recognized the inevitability of crossing the finish line well after all of the others had.

Then a wonderful thing, that (even at this moment, all of these years later) still has my eyes brimming with tears, at the recollection. The runner in the lane to my son’s right looked over his shoulder … saw the sadness and frustration on my son’s face … and stopped … and waited … and ushered my son … ahead of him … across the finish line. And then applauded my son (while also cheering him.)

Need I say anything more? Is there anything that my words could add to the eloquence of that young man’s sermon in demonstrated compassion and self-sacrifice? Can the poetry of one person’s obvious generosity of spirit be enhanced by anyone else’s commentary? I think not! So rather than speak to that young gentleman’s nobility, I will speak to us … You and Me.

Would it take so much for us to step aside and allow the one struggling along-side us to move ahead? Will our position in our own life-race be jeopardized by a spirit of generosity and sacrifice? Is that “finish line” of immediate gratification worth the loss of the higher goal of betterment of our shared environment? Will we be any “better off” as a people if we insist on focusing on our own agendas to the exclusion of a sensitivity to the plight of our neighbors? Did that young man not demonstrate, to all of us, the noble value of assuming responsibility for and taking action to benefit those who (while doing all that they are capable of doing) are falling behind?

No, My Dear Reader, I can not add to, nor do I wish to detract from the beauty of the message delivered by that wonderful Human Being’s behavior. So, in this thought on reaching out and touching others, I will dry my tears of recollection … and send these considerations to your safe-keeping.

IMAGE: Matthew Michael Brown (My Son)

A Two-Year-Old's Morning

2010-09-10T14:53:00.004-04:00

To satisfy my current appetite for simplicity and openness ... what could be better than a look at life through the eyes of a sweet, and completely receptive, child? So, I revisit a Bit posted in February of last year ...

A Two-Year-Old's Morning

Through the prism of one tiny Dew Drop,
She discovers the spectrum of a new day’s Sun.
Her perspective … the same height as the Plant’s,
She is perfectly focused on Wonders unseen to me.

Introduced, by my Dad, to the ‘Night crawler’ Worm,
She boldly takes its wriggling, squirming Form in fingertip hold.
Then, to the shock and disgust of all of the ‘Grown-ups,’
She examines it further … with a bite.

Made aware of the individual character of Leaves,
She touches each, in turn … Plant by Plant.
Noting; some jagged, some smooth … rigid, soft.
And the Nursery becomes a Place of diverse wonder.

Such is a day’s exploration of Life and her World.
Such is the opening of awareness and consciousness.
In the eyes and sensitivities of this delicate Beauty …
As this two-year-old embraces Living ... and Life.

The Gainseville Goon

2010-09-09T20:51:00.003-04:00

I shudder with the chill of deeply instilled and reinforced embarrassment and shame at the behavior of this mental pygmy who parades his stupidity, and self-aggrandizing ignorance, before the entire world in today’s press.

My very personal response is born of many decades of living under the misguided tutelage of ill-educated, intellectually immature, and sectarian-biased men who exercised power and influence over the minds and lives of thousands of willing followers. Simply summarized … I lived in the hermetically-sealed sphere of a Southern Baptist. I am, as I write this, an ordained Southern Baptist Deacon. Yet … I smile!

My history is one of listening to the dire warnings (issued from the pulpit … with carefully selected biblical reference supports) that God would destroy the world if we trespassed into His domain with a space program … a visit from my pastor’s wife (to my place of employment) warning me of the dangers of dating a girl outside of our faith (she, obviously, was unaware of the extraordinary body that the girl in question was gifted with!) [silly grin] Even worse, the girl was reputed to be (brace yourself) a CATHOLIC! Oh my!! … extended meetings of the Congregation laboring over the fear-laced question of admitting Negros (they were neither ‘Blacks’ nor ‘African Americans’ at the time. Only “those Men who want to date your sister.” … and then, the Ultimate “straw that broke the proverbial back of the proverbial camel” … the declaration (made in an open address by the president of the Southern Baptist Convention) that “God does not hear the prayers of the Jews.” And here, for all of my lifetime, we had been taught that the Jews are “God’s chosen People.” Go figure!

Well, my Dear Friends, that ripped it for me. I just couldn’t imagine worshiping a deity that is hearing-impaired. So I have absented myself from religious services with those who continue in such pursuits, lest my presence cause dissension and/or conflict. (As you may well suspect … silent acquiescence is not my style.) [smile]

So, you can begin to imagine my gut-response to that tiny (as measured on my personal scale of significance) man’s rantings about his determination to have a “Qur’an burning” this week. Oh yes! My Spirit is well-conditioned to readiness for just such insanities. But … what to do to allay my disgust and revulsion?

It seems to me that the only rational and healthy response to ignorance and prejudice is education and an embracing of the Subject at hand. Towit: I went online and ordered (from Amazon.com) …

"The Qur'an (Oxford World's Classics Hardcovers)"
Muhammad A. S. Abdel Haleem

Let’s just see for ourselves what all of this fuss is all about.

The antics of the Idiot in Gainesville, Florida ... I leave to the influences and powers of Time and Eternity.

Life’s Swaddling Care

2010-09-08T18:30:00.005-04:00

If she were to enfold me in her tender embrace,
surely ‘twould be with the delicate softness
of a Bluebell Wood.

I could blissfully entertain the prospect of an eternal respite
cradled in the welcoming undulations of her bosom.

My senses are put at ease as I turn loose
all of yesterday’s vexations.

And happily allow Life to nurture me
in her swaddling care.

IMAGE courtesy of BBC News

Where Whispers Forever Dwell

2010-09-05T13:50:00.007-04:00

Off to that Place where whispers forever dwell,

Drift the mists of all that I feel and desire …

Part, now, of the forces of Foreverness.

Only to be mingled with all that has been sensed before,

And swept back, once more, through me.

To be reknown … and relived.

John-Michael

05 August 2010

IMAGE through the generous courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

Common Gifts

2010-09-05T01:18:00.006-04:00

Allowing a few silent moments, with this image,
made me feel good.

Peace and stillness are present here.

One, delicate and easily called “fine” …
the other, sturdy, charmingly "homey,"
and purposefully useful …

They find kinship and harmony
in their unassuming absence of pretense.

Each welcomes me in its own, individual, way.

And I am comfortable with whiling away
unmeasured time with them.

How I do adore such simple,
yet elegant, 'Friends'!

IMAGE through the generous courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

No Wasted Moments

2010-08-25T12:24:00.005-04:00

With Life's divine Gift, of each Moment, of every day,

we are given the opportunity ...

for each place and every life that we touch ...

to make that Place or Person ... better.

To fail to do so ...

is to have wasted Life's Gift,

of that Moment.

I am intent on wasting no Moments.

In Our Hands

2010-08-18T14:55:00.005-04:00

I ... You ... each and every One of Us

hold, in our hands ...

in the grasp of our will and control,

the Happiness

of our Self ... and every Life

that we touch.

Be gentle.

Please.

Life's Meaning

2010-07-11T18:36:00.001-04:00

The cacophony of today's noises cause me to revisit these thoughts from 20 September 2008 ...

“Is this what gives meaning to your life?” A question that I have oft asked of myself. “Is the energy of this moment the defining power of your living?” “Is the music, inspiring your life’s dance, the melody that most honestly speaks the desires of your heart?” “Are you being true to all that is the precious core of You?”

I do not grade or rank the worth of the task or activity in which I am engaged. No, Dear Friend … I, instead, weigh the merits of my heart’s intention‘s in my engagement in any enterprise. And … only then … do I ascribe my own quiet appraisal of value in my endeavor.

I will not accept anger as my life’s meaning. Nor hate. Not even irritation. And certainly not malice. How dreadful I would feel if I felt that my life’s meaning could be defined as any one of those or their miserable cousins; bitterness, contempt, hostility, or vengefulness. I can not even consider carrying the burden of such as my daily baggage. For I opt, to the contrary, for a daily walk made lighter by the lifting spirit of a heart made glad by contemplation of all that is good. I am, you could say, made lazy by my addiction to easiness of spirit.

I write of these things today, in response to what I have recently seen and heard in the lives of some with whom I share my life path. I have witnessed the pain of their insistence on dwelling on all of those crippling voices of dark considerations. And I cannot bear the destructiveness of such a walk. Finding myself in proximity to such an environment of negative waste tears me down and renders me weak and useless. So I remind myself … as I refresh your memory … in the recollection of one of my favorite scriptural formulae:

“Whatsoever things are true;
Whatsoever things are honest;
Whatsoever things are just;
Whatsoever things are pure;
Whatsoever things are lovely;
Whatsoever things are of good repute;
If there be any virtue;
If there be any praise;
Think on these things.”
Philippians Ch4, V8

There you are! What, I ask you, could possibly be simpler? For how can we allow a seed of anger to be “planted” in our mind … and then ask why we are not reaping joy? Can we rationally expect peace to be the fruit of our allowing hatred to take root in our thinking? Does frustration and anxiety render a harvest of satisfaction and contentment? Please, My Dear Reader, permit me to suggest the beauty of the simplest and most rudimentary of formulae. Only cling to what you want to embrace as worthy of your life’s meaning. And gently turn your back on all of the world’s encouragements to devalue yourself with tabloid noise.

In the hope that you find a bit of encouragement in these considerations, I remain (as always) your loving and caring Friend and willing Servant.

Outside In

2010-07-03T19:33:00.006-04:00

Not so hard to go outside and join
what has always been a welcomed part
of all that is inside.

When the world,
with all of its sounds and fragrances,
has provided an accompaniment
to all of my life’s moments …
‘tis altogether natural to mingle with her.

What could seem off-putting
to those raised in the silent and still,
air-conditioned dwellings …

is but part of the accustomed rhythm
and tempo of life,
to one who knows window screens,
insect sounds, and various crawly-creatures.

Forever-fresh is the sense of gross terror,
at the sound (somewhat akin to the flapping
of a balloon’s stem as air is expelled)
of cockroaches flying across the darkness
of the bedroom, in a hot Summer’s humidity.

Years of these, and other associated sounds,
have conditioned me to acceptance
of any source of potentially pesky
night-time whisperings.

All combined to make going out,
into the total world experience,
a far-less intimidating proposition.

I can readily recommend the practice
of inviting, into one’s life,
all that one intends to, eventually,
go out and join.

Autistic Salutatorian

2010-06-16T19:30:00.011-04:00

Autistic Salutatorian Delivers High School Graduation Speech

Rhode Island High Schooler Leads Class Despite Speech Struggle

By BRADLEY BLACKBURN

June 16, 2010—

Eric Duquette is the salutatorian of his high school, an honor student, a musician, and he has autism.

Eric Duquette delivers his graduation speech to classmates from Smithfield High School in Rhode Island. "My parents were told I would most likely end up in an institution," he said. "I stand before you accepted into every institution of higher learning I applied to." (The Valley Breeze)

The 18-year-old Duquette, who couldn't say a word until age five, gave the commencement speech at his high school graduation ceremony Tuesday night in Smithfield, Rhode Island.

"My parents were told I would most likely end up in an institution," said Duquette. "I stand before you accepted into every institution of higher learning I applied to."

He stood at the podium wearing a green cap and gown and a big grin on his face. His speech, funny and touching, was met with enthusiastic applause from his peers.

Duquette graduated from Smithfield High School with the second-highest grade point average in a class of just under 200 students. He will attend Rhode Island College in the fall, with plans to study biology and eventually become a pharmacist.

"Tonight is all about reflection and looking forward to the journeys that lie ahead of us," he said.

It's been quite a journey for Eric. His success in high school came after years of work and slow progress. Diagnosed with autism when he was a young child, Duquette struggled with communication and language.

Mother's Dedication Gives Gift of Speech

His mother, Judith Duquette, began working with him early to break down his communication barrier with speech therapy. In addition to professional therapy, mother taught son using sign language and cards with pictures and symbols.

Despite his early struggles with speech, today he speaks both English and Spanish. He's a member of the Spanish National Honor Society and placed 93rd in the nation on the Spanish V exam.

Judy Duquette combs her son Eric's hair before he delivers his graduation speech.
Photo credit: The Valley Breeze

"Daniel Webster wrote that 'if my possessions were taken from me with one exception, I would choose to keep the power of communication, for by it I would soon regain all the rest,'" Duquette said at the podium. "For me, learning to communicate did mean regaining all the rest."

Salutatorian with Autism Gives High School Graduation Speech

Listing the scholarships and college acceptances he's received, Duquette said that he hoped to inspire his fellow students.

"I tell you this so you do not allow yourself or others to be defined by your limitations but rather abilities. Never underestimate yourself," he said.

Eric Duquette, 18, receives his diploma
during the Smithfield High School graduation ceremony
on June 15, 2010.
Photo credit: Lee Walsche/Lifetouch National School Studios

After the ceremony, Duquette told ABC News he was proud of his performance.

"I think I perfectly encompassed the compassion and spirit of Smithfield High School through each and every single one of my words," he said.

Copyright © 2010 ABC News Internet Ventures (With my profound thanks)

Alone

2010-06-12T12:04:00.003-04:00

Her sweet message read, “You are never alone,” and I accepted it in the generous spirit that it was intended. I am truly grateful for her intention that I know she is with me … though we have never shared physical space together. Yet, her words have had me replaying her message over and over for the past couple of months. And I am continually reminded that, if there is any one word that could define my life experience, it would, in fact, be “alone.”

I am recognized by many … known by a few … intimate with far fewer … and, ultimately, alone. This, for one whose core Being is inhabited by an eternal yearning for intimacy, is not a happy estate. Thusly, I have disciplined myself to live in a contented acceptance (no small feat,) and deal with the aloneness by willfully numbing my dominant senses.

Though I desire no more moments of this existence … I do succeed (most of the time) in creating happiness and even satisfaction in each day that is served up by Life. But, at the end of each of these days, I rest my head with no appetite for another.

I speak of this with no wish for any sort of response … however supportive or encouraging they may be in purpose or intent. But merely to convey the workings of my mind … that you may know me better. See … there I go again … doing that ‘intimate’ thing. [small smile]

The Truest Measure

2010-06-01T14:04:00.008-04:00

The truest measure

of Man's character ...

is reflected in the scale,

of what it takes to upset him.

With this in mind ...

Many who would pose as Great,

are revealed as Minuscule.

Whereas ...

Many, who the World would dismiss

as Insignificant ...

become known as Monumental.

Really Good ...

2010-05-26T12:34:00.010-04:00

Alecia phoned to bring me up to date with current happenings in her world. I must say that hearing from her is one of my life’s richest highlights. In the course of our brief conversation (she was calling on a quick break between classes) she spoke of one of her students. It seems that this particular young man is challenged by his pencil sharpener. You know the sort. That tiny plastic holder of a metal blade that one introduces the pencil into and turns the pencil until the little ribbon of removed wood reveals a freshly pointed lead. Well, this particular maneuver is beyond the abilities of the young man in question. He continually finds himself with a lead that is broken off inside the sharpener. Thus, he cannot accomplish the sharpening task.

I should point out here the fact that Alecia is certified as a Teacher of students who are identified as being in need of the program that addresses the individual requirements of ‘Exceptional Students.’ That is, students who life has presented with all manner of physical, emotional, and mental challenges. And this young man (age 11 or so) has had his particular challenges manifested in the tangible form of a repeatedly-broken pencil lead.

Having addressed this difficulty every day for an entire week, Alecia had the student confront her with a declaration, “You are really good at this! You should do it for a living.” … then a grateful smile. She thanked him and thought, to herself, “I am doing this for a living!” as she enjoyed the humor in that recognition. “With all of my education, specialized training, and accumulated experience, I am un-jamming broken pencil leads in cheap plastic pencil-sharpeners 'for a living'." And she just had to share the humor of this reality with her Dad (me.)

We had a good laugh, and I suggested that she might want to embellish her resume with this newly developed ‘professional skill.’ Then she was off to her next awaiting requirement at the school. It was then … in the ‘after-glow’ of reflection … that I allowed my many years of working with my son, Matthew, and those who comprised his world (those Individuals struggling with just the sort of hurdles that Alecia addresses every day) to inform me.

Imagine,if you will, the position of someone who sees everyone around him accomplishing the mundane and ordinary task of sharpening a pencil … and not being able to achieve success in your own effort to do the same. Place yourself in the stead of that One who is compelled to ask for assistance … yet again, and again, for an entire week … with this elementary chore.

Which brings me to a contemplative moment of consideration … as I ask … what opportunity to un-jam Someone’s ‘pencil-sharpener’ are we addressing in our individual life-path today? Are we edifying that Other as we pause with their moment of need? Or do we consider all of our Station, Position, experience, Role, expertise, or Importance of too great a significance, or value, to dally with such small and bothersome matters as we are being asked, by Life, to contemplate.

I would hope, for all of us, that, as the scriptures so beautifully entreat, we would ... “in whatever you do in word, or deed ... act with your intentions directed toward all that is eternal and the most pure ... giving thanks for the gift, of each opportunity, to do … and to be … what benefits others.” (The book of Colossians chapter 3 verse 17 [John-Michael’s version])

I pray that it be said, of each of us, by every Life that we are privileged to touch, “You are really good at this!”

Lovingly …

The Wonder of You

2010-05-20T08:51:00.008-04:00

When I awakened this morning, this was 'playing' inside me. No! I haven't even the remotest clue why. I haven't heard either the song or the music for a very long time.

Nonetheless, I do love all that it speaks of ... and hope that it sparks some pleasure in you, Dear Friend, as well.

The Wonder of You

When no-one else can understand me
When everything I do is wrong
You give me hope and consolation
You give me strength to carry on

And you're always there to lend a hand
In everything I do
That's the wonder
The wonder of you

And when you smile the world is brighter
You touch my hand and I'm a king
Your kiss to me is worth a fortune
Your love for me is everything

I guess I'll never know the reason why
You love me like you do
That's the wonder
The wonder of you

The Wonder of You
Artist(Band):Elvis Presley
(words & music by Baker Knight)

One Word

2010-05-16T12:27:00.012-04:00

It may be that I am vastly different from others. I really do not know how the putting away of feelings and impressions is accomplished by those around me. But I do know that I have a need to place the stuff of my life in order, with something akin to the systems that we employed in my 5th and 6th grade classroom. Our class was housed in the school library. Each day was begun by the checking in and shelving of the library books returned by the school’s student body.

Hence, we had to know the classification and sequencing system of each book in order to shelve it properly. So it is with my thoughts and feelings. I must identify, with an appropriate ‘label,’ each experienced emotional happening, in order to ‘file it away’ comfortably. So, you can see why those ‘labels’ are important to me.

Thus it is that I have been vexed for a number of years by my inability to affix a word to a couple of significant happenings in my life. I have long-known that the process of thought ... the management of impression, emotion, ideas, and the like ... is made possible by the ‘tools’ of thinking. Namely, words. Without those words … those tools … no processing of ideas, feelings, or emotions, is possible.

This awareness is what motivated me to devote every possible moment to the enriching of my son’s linguistic abilities. I would converse with him about totally inane subjects … matters of meaning and import … concepts of vague or abstract impression … specific linkages and/or sequencing of elements of life ...anything that would enable him to better engage in, his own private and personal, experiences of thinking, and sorting out, his mind and spirit’s workings.

I am pleased that I can rest in my knowledge that his abilities, in those areas, developed far beyond the most optimistic of projections, offered by specialists, in disciplines devoted to the treatment, and development, of persons with disabilities. He excelled over any projections presented in estimations of the long-range effects of his cerebral palsy. So, you see, I have a keen understanding of the import of those critical tools of language.

So a word … just the right word … is vitally important to me. And I never relent in my quest for that particular word … as I seek to define, and better understand, and respond to, my life experiences. That one word … that will enable me to place that experience in its proper place on the shelves of my experiential library.

Now, that’s a hell of a lot to say as a prelude to today’s happening. The light-bulb over the head moment when the perfect word presented itself to me. The word that identified, with absolute exactitude, that look that was in my daughter’s eyes when I last saw her. The word that explained all of the depth of meaning being transmitted by her words, demeanor, and spirit, as she dismissed me from her presence. The word that speaks of the volumes of understanding that was present when I was similarly dismissed from my mother’s presence as I, at age 20, left home. One word that I have not for all of these years, been able to find … that I might be able to affix an understanding that would satisfy (and bring resting comfort to my groping for closure.) At last I have been given the wonderful gift of that specific word … it is 'contempt.'

Now, at long last, I can rest in an understanding of what was being conveyed by those two individuals, in those happenings of five years ago (in the instance of my daughter’s presentation) and over forty years ago (with my mother’s indelible look.) I had not encountered that sensation outside of those two experiences … until last week. It was then that I was revisited with the flash-back recall of all of the feelings and emotions associated with a confrontation with contempt. In that instant, the clock of history was spun back … and I, again, saw that look in my mother’s eyes. I relived all that was still fresh from the archives of my recollection. I, afresh and anew, saw utter contempt in the face of my mother.

But now, unlike the previous time, I can simply, and quietly, label it for what it is … and shelve it … with determination to never check that volume out again.

Oxford English Dictionary

contempt
noun
The feeling that someone or something is worthless or beneath consideration.

My Morning Chapel

2010-05-14T10:43:00.017-04:00

One of my very favorite songs is the old hymn "In the Garden." Part of it goes, "I come to the Garden alone ... while the dew is still on the roses."

Though this morning's dew is found clinging to magnolia blossoms, Spanish moss, and grasses and ground cover ...

I still felt my Spirit celebrating oneness with all that is eternal and holy.

I invite you to 'worship' with me ...

Amen!

The Moods of Sunrise on Lake Platt

2010-05-08T08:43:00.016-04:00

I invite You to take a brief Moment ...

There!

I do, truly, hope that You allowed your Self the enjoyment of a deep breath ...
and, perhaps, even a sigh.

I thank You for sharing this Moment with me.

Lovingly ...

Her Effect

2010-05-04T10:58:00.003-04:00

Passing loveliness ...

Fleeting chord ...

Wafting fragrance ...

Tingling air ...

Striking colors ...

All elicit response.

Now here ... then gone.

Impact ... then Memory.

Impression ... then afterglow.

Lofty peak ... then soft meadow.

Such is her effect.

The Mist that was her Presence.

The vapor that lingers.

She touched me.

John-Michael
4 May 2010

Be Still ...

2010-05-03T05:11:00.004-04:00

“Know thyself”
Ascribed to: Plato, Pythagoras, and Socrates

“The spirit is the true self”
Cicero (MarcusTulliusCicero[106-43 BC])

“This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
William Shakespeare(1564-1616)Hamlet(1601)

Let’s take a moment to consider our least known, but most valuable personal resource. That whisper that speaks to you in the stillness of your aloneness. But, pay heed... you have as a constant “resource” a multitude of voices that would try to convince you that all of the inclinations of your heart (the revelations of that frequently referred to, still. small inner voice) are “deceitful.” This white-bearded old man is here to tell you, in the strongest and most confidently clear voice imaginable, “value YOUR inner messenger.” This “still, small voice” is not emotion, or mood… not feelings or sentiment… but the insight and cognizance born of That which is beyond us. Do not allow outside voices to erode your confidence in the worth of either you (just exactly as you were created) or the Spirit to which you have committed the expression of yourself.

Here is a real-life story that reinforced my certainty in the worth of our inner voice. It was presented in a documentary dealing with a British anthropologist who went to the Bush to study a group of Aboriginal peoples. His specific interest became the Shaman or Medicine Man of the group. By the standard of the Westernized scientific world from which this academic came, this Shaman was as unimpressive as could possibly be imagined. He had but a few teeth remaining, a small stature, skin that made a crocodile’s look fair, but eyes that revealed the universe with a smile that compelled complete trust and confidence. The Shaman looked into the camera and said “I go to my places by the same path again and again. But sometimes my inner voice tells me ‘today a man waits for you with a sharp spear. Take another path today.’” And the Shaman’s face folded into a smiling cacophony of wrinkles as he concluded, “I have never met a man with a sharp spear.”

He always, without questioning, doubt, or hesitation, took the different path. He paid heed to the Spiritual message delivered as a quiet whisper to his consciousness. I was personally sold on the merit of this man’s inner voice when the documentarian closed his presentation with the fact that the anthropologist abandoned his previous life to become the disciple of the Shaman.

I am continually reminded, by Life’s frequent gifts to me, of the far-reaching value of “Be still and know…” For it is only in stillness that we can really hear. In that documentary, I heard my Spirit saying “listen, pay heed, and proceed with confidence in your trust of Me.”

Don’t you see? The Shaman didn’t inquire of his tribesmen, nor did he
examine the trail for forensic evidence. He went through no religious or ceremonial rites, nor did he wait for a study of the choice at hand. He simply listened to his inner voice and responded with confidence in Its distinct directive. It is so for me when I reach a point where I can tell that I have read all that I have need of reading, I have discussed all that is required to clarify my thinking, and I need only to allow that inner Resource to sift through all of the materials installed in my mental, emotional and spiritual archives to present the message for that present moment in my life… to “Be still and know…” Herein lies the wonder of BEING. That is the being of ME. The ME that answers for and accepts the responsibility for responding to Life’s prompts. The ME that is eternal.

IMAGE through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, Freefoto.com

Revisiting "When We Meet"

2010-04-22T11:20:00.002-04:00

(Just because I wanted to) [smile]

When We Meet

I’ll not meet you side the highway,
Nor in the halls of commerce,
Where serenity and quiet,
Have no home … nor can be found.

I’ll reserve for us a table,
With a window on the Bayside.
Softly draped, with cloth of linen,
Weaved by noble Peasant hand.

We will sup with wine by locals.
Label known not to the merchant.
We will dine on fare from labours,
Of attentive, gentle care.

We'll be slow about our speaking.
Of each other we are learning.
Of each other are becoming,
More as One ... no more, the Twain.

We are learning, and accepting,
All that is our inner Beings.
All within us … all that makes us …
All defining who we are.

Can we cling to, save, this moment?
Can we hold it to our bosom?
Will it nurture and uphold us?
When our outside worlds, we face?

‘Tis most certain that we cannot.
For life’s swirling all about us.
This, the fledgling bond between us …
Life would pull and tear apart.

So please meet me, ere you wander,
In your busy life and duty,
At our table … by that window.
Where our Union knits, once more.

John-Michael
25 February 2008
Revised & Retitled 3 May 2009

Prelude to "The Magician's Blanket"

2010-04-18T03:02:00.005-04:00

My wife asked me (more than once) why I felt compelled to tell my world about all that was most personal and private in my life. I remember, quite clearly, responding with something closely akin to “My experiences are the only things that I am the authority on. Only I can speak of the intricate details and elements that surround my experiences. And if any part of what I have lived can be used by anyone to make their life easier, less painful, better understood, or more enjoyable or happier … then I will not exercise some sense of protective selfishness in denying that person, or those persons, a gentler, more satisfying, or joyful moment in their pilgrimage. This is all that I am capable of giving … and I will not hesitate in giving it.” My answer did not assuage her desire to cloister her life from the knowing of others. But that is her choice. You, Dear Reader, know mine.

That said, I am responding to the urging of Lady Muse … and giving, here, some of the details surrounding my earlier “The Magician’s Blanket” post.

Breakfast at our favorite Diner had been previously planned … and (after my morning run) it was there that I went (still wearing perspiration soaked sweat-clothes) and found my business Partner in a booth with two young ladies.

“Here we go again!” I thought. Knowing my Partner to be the most charismatic and accomplished “Gamer” that I had ever met (and he still, to this day, holds that ‘distinction’), there was no shock at seeing him fully engaged in his favorite sport.

He introduced me to the two … one, the glamorous and finely turned out woman who was obviously accustomed to being the center of attention … the other, a very pretty young woman who was the filling the role as “companion to the Looker” that I too was familiar with in my social and business engagements with my associate and friend.

So, here we were … the two of them happily playing their well-rehearsed, and finely polished, game with each other (something akin to two creatures strutting their finery at the peak of mating season … determining whether there would be a conjugal conclusion that would be chalked up as one more on their sizable scorecards) … and the two sidekicks who had heard and seen it all far more times than could be tallied.

She and I said little … quiet looks exchanged … smiles and rolling of eyes that said volumes of understood knowing.

Then the two leading characters in our little play decided to move the production to the apartment that the two girls shared. It seemed that they planned to move to a new address in the near future. Mister Mover (pun intended) suggested that he and I (my participation was an easily assumed given [in his estimation]) wanted to survey the size and scope of the proposed move (the furniture, and etcetera … not the unspoken, but well understood ‘move’ that both he and she were sparring around). Thus we left the diner. Mister Smooth and Miss Glamour in his new, sporty, and very trendy car … and (by default) the two attachés in the second car.

Much like two ‘Seconds’ at a duel or sporting event, She and I accompanied our ‘Star Players’ as they continued their jocular joust.

But this time … something new and unanticipated was happening ... the magic of a drawing bond between us. It was first evidenced by our gently, quietly, and quite naturally taking each other’s hand as we walked to the car. We attributed it to the cold and our need to share some warmth. It was so appropriate and right that we continued holding each others' hand throughout the ride to the apartment.

Then, as The Two continued their ongoing sport, the two of us sat next to each other on the earlier-mentioned sofa … and talked. I still remember (these 30+ years later) what we talked about. This unassuming and delicate creature enjoyed her weekends driving a huge, four-wheel-drive pickup truck in “mud-boggin” competitions. I was amazed! And appalled. The thought of people purposefully abusing and misusing equipment and/or machinery was something that I could not countenance. My Dad had programmed me to respect, care for, pamper, and always protect all things of mechanical or technical nature. I could not fathom someone going into a deep mud-filled swamp with a beautiful piece of finely engineered machinery and, with intent and forethought, try to see how much abuse and challenge they could get their truck to survive. So, we talked, at length, about every aspect of this avocation. She was as amazed at my concern for her truck … and for her personal safety and well-being. An invisible chamber, of private seclusion, formed around us, as we shared perspectives.

It was quite cold in the apartment … so we employed the blanket spoken of in the earlier post. Then, after a while of celebrating the silent, yet eloquent, communication that can be known in holding hands (something that I will yearn for ‘til my last breath) ... without words, a kiss.

The noise of silliness coming from the others became almost an embarrassment … so we pulled the blanket up … over our heads … and formed the magical cocoon that I have spoken of. The rest I have already shared. (Save our, eventually, agreeing that we should go upstairs and “survey the bedroom furnishings” in keeping with the advertised purpose of our being there.) [conspiratorial grin] The Two were so wrapped up in their game that they assumed that their sidecar parties were simply attending to the mundanities that fringed their superficial frolics. (And we quietly giggled our appreciation of their self-absorption.)

So there, Dear Friends, is what is oft referred to as “The Rest of The Story.”

When I received an unexpected invitation to be a Friend (on a social networking site) to a lovely young woman, who I met recently, I happily agreed. She had made a very notable impression on me at our meeting. Beyond her obvious beauty, there was an evident depth of character … and something that rang familiar about her. So, I visited her profile … and was moved by a stirring that was profound and not understood. This 'stirring' kept me awake all night, with a powerful force that was beyond my understanding. It was most unsettling!

Then, in the stillness of early morning … with my first pot of coffee … it all came back. It was a bit over thirty years ago … this moment in my past … but crystalline clear. And I began to understand the similarities in my new friend, which brought that past treasure into my present.

I had met the young lady in question at a gathering of a group of friends … in a place that was very active and energetic … and she was a still pond in the midst of an active sea. There was a depth that was neither presumptuous nor disattached about her. … just as that precious woman had quietly and oh-so-beautifully displayed on that morning … so long ago.

And, on that morning of my recollection, as I recognized who my new friend reminded me of, I was engulfed in the the tsunami of recall that washed over me. It was overwhelming! And, at this writing … four days later … I am still dealing with tears welling up in waves of tender emotion and remembering. Sweet tears that taste of delight and peaceful joy. What a gift!

So, there you are, Dear Reader and Friend. I know not what benefit may be known, by some unknown Individual, from these revelations from my Library of Memory. But, trusting in the wisdom of my unfailing Lady Muse, and in keeping with that life commitment expressed to my former wife, I lay it all out there for the use of whomever may find some encouragement, insight, understanding, or even entertainment, in it. For, ‘tis still true that “My experience is all that I have to offer this world that I live in.”

And I do so … in love. [smile]

Andy Mackie ... "Harmonica Man"

2010-04-16T17:45:00.008-04:00

Something that Steven (my sweet Little Brother) shared with me ...
and I simply MUST share with ... You!
Enjoy!
(I do love You, Ya know?!

The Magician's Blanket

2010-04-14T15:24:00.010-04:00

Wrapped in that Blanket … the one recruited from the sofa that we shared … we became Subjects to the transforming powers of life’s Magician.

Concealed from all the world outside, we transformed into something of wonder and delight that had ne’er before been known.

Two people, who barely knew each others’ names …
we became a Oneness that shared a joyful pulse …
breathed a complimentary breath …

moved from the chill of the winter without … to a perspiration of sensual Tropics that existed only in the cocoon of our newly created world.

We touched … melded … melted into a warm liquid that flowed gently and easily over shores of receptive desires.

There were no Circumstances … no details … neither requirements nor responsibilities constraining our openness to each other.

There … on that sofa … in that little apartment … within the folds of that blanket’s security … we found Home.

All that was known then as Reality, has been blown away and scattered as the sands of the Sahara … no one grain known to any other.

What abides today … and lingers as Genuine … is the indelible Truth of our union.

Known to the rational and fact-encumbered mind, as “passing, fleeting, and momentary”... those moments have a legitimacy and substance that is as fresh now, as it was overwhelmingly present, then.

If only I could have had the presence of mind … the wisdom and maturity yet to come … to tell her that she was forever part of me … and wanted there.

But, alas, the cocoon melted away … the oasis of visited Bliss receded into the distance … circumstance and routine pulled us over inevitable horizons.

And here … today … I find us, and our envelope of satisfying fulfillment, comforting and evermore Precious.

(These are the reflections brought to the fore of my awareness, by a new Friend. My deepest and most sincerely admiring thanks to Her.)

Erdrich's "Advice to Myself"

2010-04-09T23:42:00.009-04:00

LOUISE ERDRICH: [I’ve]” just got to be Erdrich. I can't do anything else. I'm going to read this, 'cause this is what I finally had to do. I had to give myself advice …”

Excerpted from: the transcript, of Bill Moyers’ interview of Louise Erdrich, found at … http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/04092010/transcript3.html ... and edited by John-Michael (in structure only [spacing, capitalizations, and punctuations] … no text altered)

Advice to Myself
Louise Erdrich

Leave the dishes.

Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.

Leave the black crumbs at the bottom of the toaster.

Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.

Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.

Don't even sew in a button.

Let the wind have its way … then the earth
that invades as dust … and then the dead,
foaming up, in gray rolls, under the couch.

Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.

Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzle ...
or the doll's tiny shoes …

Don't worry who uses whose toothbrush …
or if anything matches ... at all.

Except one Word to another … or a Thought.

Pursue the Authentic.

Go after it with all your Heart.

Your Heart, that Place
you don't even think of cleaning out.

That closet stuffed with savage mementos.

Don't sort the paperclips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner again.

Don't answer the telephone ... ever ...
or weep over anything that breaks.

Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator.

Accept new forms of life and talk to the dead
who drift in through the screened windows … who collect
patiently on tops of food jars and books.

Recycle the mail, don't read it … don't read anything
except what destroys the insulation
between your Self ... and your Experience.

Less ... More

2010-04-01T18:48:00.020-04:00

My Being is rendered utterly mute by the power of the blossom

I am speechless …

Without vocabulary to adequately express

I have neither thought nor voice …

Sufficient to do justice to her beauty

Then … with the removal of light, with all of its revelations

I enter the realm of another sort of experiential awe

This visitation is suggested by line and contrast

‘Tis the eloquent Silhouette … Mistress of the Minimal

In the absence of detail, my Spirit picks up its brush

Coloring the Image with my own imaginings

The Silhouette invites my fuller participation … deeply within

My spiritual Voice is freed to whisper … even sing … its offerings

I participate, even more fully than possible in the presence of detail

Can it be true … that what seems Less, can be so much … More

IMAGES:
Through the generous courtesy of Ian Britton, freefoto.com
Through the generous courtesy of Jon Sullivan, pdphoto.org
Through the generous courtesy of BBC News

Challenge Met

2010-03-30T19:01:00.009-04:00

The Lady in the Sewing Crafts Store must have overheard the conversation between us. For, she could not resist interjecting herself into it. My questioning … and YES I confess, perhaps more than just a little bit of challenging … my wife, was more than the Owner of the shop could bear. “Well, Sir, if you think that creating a design (as opposed to the completion of the repetitious background to a pre-stitched design), and accomplishing the cross-stitching of that self-generated design, is something that your wife should be eager to attempt … perhaps you, Sir, would like to make that attempt yourself.”

Well! Here I was. On “foreign” turf … out of my “guy element” … and being challenged … even DARED … by this Lady, who was obviously rising to the defense of one of her faithful (and profitable) Customers. “I will make you this offer, Sir,” she continued, “If you will create your own original design for a cross-stitched panel … I will give you … cost-free … all of the materials necessary to complete the panel. And, further, if you manage to complete the piece … and return here with it … I will block and frame it for you … again, for free. “

There it was … in my face … my young wife (this was somewhere around 1971, and we had been married for less than 4 years) and this Lady, who I had never, prior to this encounter, met … staring at me with determined faces and mutually flinty glares. Was I to fold under the pressure … acknowledge my error in speaking from a stance of uninformed and uneducated ignorance … back down and surrender to this challenge of the ‘merits’ of my opinions as earlier, so strongly stated? Not no … but HELL NO!

So I looked about for some inspiration for an idea of a, yet undreamed of, ‘design.’ And my eyes fell on the little pin that I wore in the lapel of my jacket. A ‘*Reddy Kilowatt.’ The iconic image that bespoke the industry that I worked in … The Electric Company.

So, I told the Lady that I would create a Reddy Kilowatt cross-stitched panel. She asked what colours I would require … and made good on her offer of a bag full of materials … the likes of which I had never before set hand (or mind … if I had a mind at all) to.

Making this potentially long story as short as possible … I drew out the design … cross-stitched the panel … returned, with it, to the Shop … held it, victoriously, before the shop’s Owner … and she made good on her offer. She did indeed, as you can see, block and frame it … for free!

(Notice … the “Peace Sign” that I substituted for the Icon’s pointing finger.
Yes! I was a bit of a Liberal, Free Spirit, even then!
And … again, Yes! It does still hang on my wall. [Silly grin])

All of this long-ago memory came to the fore as I enjoyed the beautiful works shown so generously on SAHARA's site. (I visited there because I like to know as much as I can about those who compliment me by following the meanderings of my funky mind.) So, Dear SAHARA , please know that my appreciation, and enjoyment, of your creative gifts is substantiated, and to a small degree, validated, by a very small taste of actual “hands on” experience with something, at least remotely, akin to what you, so marvelously, do. [Smile]

*Reddy Kilowatt is a cartoon character that acted as corporate promoter/spokesman, for electricity generation and usage, in the United States, for some six decades.
Reddy Kilowatt is drawn as a stick figure whose body and limbs are made of “lightning bolt " symbols and whose bulbous head has a light bulb for a nose and sockets for ears. Reddy was created at the Alabama Power Company by Ashton B. Collins, Sr., and debuted March 11, 1926. He was subsequently licensed by some 300 electrical companies in the U.S. and abroad looking to sell homes on using the relatively new technology. He was featured in a 1947 comic book and movie produced by the studio of Walter Lantz. Reddy Kilowatt was a frequent presence in publicity material until energy conservation replaced energy production as a national goal with the growth of the environmental movement and the OPEC oil embargo. He is now rarely seen. In 1998, Reddy was bought by Northern States Power Company, which created an entire subsidiary, Reddy Kilowatt Corp., to manage the cartoon.
The Facilities Maintenance arm of Temple University, in Philadelphia, still applies Reddy's image to vehicles equipped to perform high voltage maintenance work within the university.

(Edited) Source Article: Wikipedia

Scenic Overlook

2010-03-26T18:18:00.003-04:00

There are, along the way, places set
aside… not destinations in and of
themselves, but places for pulling over;
taking a respite from the pace of the
journey; and reflecting, in the
momentary interlude, on the majesty,
grandeur, and all-encompassing scope
of where we have been ... are now ...
and are going.

These oases are dubbed
“Scenic Overlook” by the signposts
announcing their proximity and
availability. While taking advantage
of them the traveler is afforded the
opportunity to survey his place in
the scheme and 'landscape' of his world, as it is, at that moment.

I realize that I am a “Scenic Overlook”
in the life journey of many, whose
paths have been directed my way.

I am not registered on their itinerary
nor am I considered as one of those
places of note when they recount
their travels to others. But I, when
utilized, present, to them, a new
perspective on their pilgrimage ...
provide new appreciation for their
past ... make available a fresh awareness of their present ...
and project hitherto unknown possibilities for their futures.

This is my ministry… my calling…
my gift to the world that I am allowed
to embrace.

IMAGES: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

Gulf and Shore

2010-03-16T21:07:00.007-04:00

The Gulf of Mexico … the Florida shore

Two Dancers, well acquainted and Familiar

Choreographed by forces neither seen nor named

Repeating their to-and-fro’s in rhythmic perfection

Moving to Life’s pulse … that knows no hurry

My whole Being falls into step with their metronomic sway

Inhale, exhale … to their surge, retreat

The tiniest bubbles, of foam, form on the sands

And now flow, in intimate recognition, from my eyes

John-Michael

16 March 2010

Transcendental Image

2010-03-13T13:00:00.006-05:00

I hear the cry of that delicate Voice within
Its tender entreaty to allow just a fleeting Moment
A soft sigh of Desire wanting recognition

Over the mean growling of a worn body’s pains
In spite of insistent stiffness and stumbling lack of grace
A Presence of balletic freedom and gymnastic flight
Takes hold of my Awareness and transports my Being

I am beside that enchanting little Brook
Hearing the busy giggles and snickers issued by gurgling waters
Inhaling all that tells of Promise and Hope
In the delicious freshness of the air

Lounging in tender grasses that know only this Now
Though their seed understands all Yesterdays
Accompanied by the spontaneity of tiny creatures
Flying and flitting about in response to immediate inclination

And, looking upstream, I allow that the still Pond formed there
Will be a receptive and welcoming Hostess
Receiving me with gentlest caresses and caring comforts

So here am I … canopied by swaying, breathing, playful branches
Absent all that would hold me in discomfort or discouragement
Embracing and delighting in Life’s Gift
Of this Transcendental Image

IMAGE: With my grateful appreciation for the Skills, and Spirit, of Jon Sullivan, pdphoto.org

Mystery Escape

2010-03-09T14:54:00.005-05:00

I occasionally feel the need to “go away.” This I accomplish by visiting my Mind to distant Places. Thankfully, the Web offers many Photos of many lovely Places that combine my yearning for waterside locales, with my desire to be surrounded by natural serenity and solitude.

I want to share such an “Escape” with You, my Darling Friend.

To make it a bit more entertaining (for me [tee-hee]),
I will not tell you where this Place is.

I will tell You that this Place has been a sovereign Principality since the Late Middle Ages. It saw its independence formally recognized in 1878 then, from 1911, was part of various incarnations of a single State composed of several Republics. The last vestiges of that association ended on 3 June 2006 when it, once again, declared its independence.

Go ahead … guess.

And thank You for sharing a Moment with Me.

Hope For the Cell-Phoning Driver

2010-03-06T14:02:00.004-05:00

French Church Criticizes 'Confession' Phone Line

PARIS (AFP) – A pay telephone line for French Roman Catholics to confess their sins drew criticism from bishops on Monday.

"For advice on confessing, press one. To confess, press two. To listen to some confessions, press three," says a soothing male voice, welcoming the caller to "Le Fil du Seigneur", or "The Line of the Lord" service.

"In case of serious or mortal sins -- that is, sins that have cut you off from Christ our Lord, it is indispensable to confide in a priest," warns the 0.34 euros a minute service.

The Conference of French Bishops, which groups the country's Catholic leaders, warned in a statement that the line had "no approval from the Catholic Church in France."

The site was set up this month at the beginning of the Christian fasting period of Lent by a group of Catholics working for AABAS, a small Paris company that provides telephone messaging services, its creator told AFP.

It does not offer absolution for sins, which only a priest can provide, said the creator, Camille, who asked for her second name not be cited because she had received threats about the service.

"The idea is to confess sins which are not capital sins, but minor sins, directly to God," she said, adding that the line received about 300 calls in its first week.

Callers do not talk to a person but are offered an "atmosphere of piety and reflection," where they can listen to prayers, music and other people's confessions and can opt to record their own.

The bishops said telephone services had a role to play in lending an ear to the aged, isolated or those with disabilities, but "it is unacceptable to allow confusion over the notion of confession," they added.

"For the Catholic faithful, confession has a sacramental meaning and requires the real presence of a priest."

Camille said part of the money received for the calls goes to charity. The service costs 0.34 euros (0.46 dollars) a minute plus a connection charge for mobile phones, though a cheaper non-charity line costs 0.12 euros.

The line says on its website that it aims to encourage youngsters to confess at a time when church attendance is "in free-fall."

(Ahhhh! I feel so much better having shared 'Hope.') [silly grin]

"Your Song" ... Elton John ft. Alessandro Safina

2010-03-04T12:07:00.003-05:00

I pass along, to You, Darling Friend, all of the Love and Goodness that accompanied it when I received it from my Darling Brother, Steven.

An Afternoon With DaVinci

2010-03-03T21:53:00.013-05:00

I didn’t get to enjoy seeing Dav and Heather in Florence, whilst they visited there in ’08 … so I will just ‘pretend’ to do so at the “DaVinci Shop and Café” at the end of the marvelous DaVinci Exhibition, presented at our Museum Of Science and Industry, Wednesday. They are so very cool! [smile]

Can you imagine my delight when Samantha (one of the MOSI Staff Members) asked me to share some philosophies beyond the “If, for the short while that we are in this Place, we don’t leave it better for our having been here … we will have wasted our time. And you, Dear One, have wasted nothing.” That I wrote on the back of one of my calling cards, and left for her on the table where she was demonstrating and explaining some of the wonders of optical innovations experienced by DaVinci.

So, I happily explained that I live in accordance with the personal imperative that states “Never leave any person or circumstance offered by Life, with the potential for a “Wish-I’d-A.” That is … the inner thought that says “I Wish-I’d-A expressed to that stranger how they touched my Heart as we passed.” or “I wish-I’d-a demonstrated the feelings of my heart to that individual whose presence moved me just now.” “So,” I explained to Samantha, “I clumsily, awkwardly, and sometimes haltingly (for I have had no teacher, guide, or mentor to demonstrate or instruct me in examples of practicing this business of reaching out to passing strangers in my world) verbalize my emotions … or demonstrate my convictions … thereby avoiding the possibility of ever having to reflect on the regretful awareness that comes with belated ‘wish-I’d-a’s”

She had to wonder “Just what kind of strange Person is this man who invites me to visit his Blog … and invites me to inform him of my progress in following my life’s dream?”

She doesn’t know that I spared her the added discomfort of having to deal with the “I love you Samantha” that was living just beneath the surface of my Being. That, I knew, would have been too much for her to process at our first encounter. [smile]

So, my Dear Reader, there you have a quick glimpse into an afternoon in the life of your John-Michael. (Who, because he knows that you know him well enough to accept and embrace this Truth from him, feels no hesitation to remind you …
“I love You!”) [tender smile]

(Thank You Dav, for the wonderful Photos!)

Bon Appétit!

2010-03-01T16:01:00.006-05:00

Gas! Heartburn, indigestion, abdominal disquietude, intestinal distress … describe it as you will, there is no delicate nor pleasant way of considering the miserable experience of living with the aftermath of the introduction of something that establishes itself as disagreeable to One’s system. Altogether an often-painful and always-uncomfortable siege on One’s Internals. So why, we are compelled to ask, do we return to Life’s table of available Offerings and yet-again choose to dish a dollop of that known-to-harm choice onto our Plate of experiential opportunities?

If I had the answer to that one at the ready, I would instantly render countless thousands of Counselors, Psychiatrists, Psychologists, Physicians, and even vendors of pharmaceuticals and herbal remedies, obsolete. No, my Dearest of ever-so-kind Readers, it just isn’t going to be that easy! All that I can, and will, do is reflect, with You, on what I hope will be a useful and helpful Imagery to serve us in our daily encounters with those tempting and perhaps even habitual inclinations to forget to be kind to our Selves.

So, here ‘tis … my take on how we are affected by our life-encounters. I think of it all as a natural taking in of nourishment. We have appetites. We have needs. We are created with certain basic requirements for fundamental sustenance. These are all true and clear enough. But then enter all of those influences that tailor, steer, distract, mandate, demand, coerce, and perpetually suggest their way into our choices of ways to address simple requisites. (Or, maybe not so simple!)

What I have learned about Temperament Types and Personality Styles has taught me that we are all created with differing core, innate Yearnings (Appetites, if you will.) These are then impacted by home/family environments. And the evolving and developing result of those inner Yearnings is, in turn, shaped and altered by social and cultural influences.

Then … we find ourselves out in “The World” … where we seek some comfortable and enjoyable satisfaction of our now-individualized Yearnings. And we have neither a personal understanding of what is driving and perplexing us, nor any ability to find safe and constructive help in addressing a viable path to follow in our quest. For, don’t you see, everyone else in our world is either doing their dead-level best to survive their own obstacle course, or experiencing life in a balanced way that does not allow them to comprehend the vexations of Others who are struggling. Not a whole lot of fun for One seeking comfort!

Nonetheless, most of us ‘taste’ all sorts of experiences. We ingest (into our life-system) all manner of selections that seem (at the moment of consideration) to offer some variation on the satisfaction theme. Some go down quite well. Some are a bit challenging to the yet-unacquired taste. Others are bitter and completely offsetting. All manner and scope of samplings can be found and known. And we learn. Sometimes, we rest well and pleasantly grow and develop with combined tried-and-true people and experiences … combined with some measure of spicy new adventures. Other times, we find ourselves in the throes of painful and frightening spells that have “Why, oh why, did I do that … go there …?!” as the accompanying theme. And we suffer all that must be suffered as our life-system ‘digests’ and deals with what we have introduced to it.

Then … blessed relief! Our life rids itself of the waste result of the unpleasant experience. It passes! And, though weakened and drained by all that has been taken from us by the encounter, we slowly regain our strength and vitality. Even our appetite for living!

Even though we know (at some quiet and distant level) that we have learned some valuable lesson from our combined indiscretion/ignorance/irresponsibility/weakness/vulnerability, we don’t want to hear it! Later will be soon enough! For right now even the mention or recollection of the offending detour from safety and sanity is enough to reignite the still-fresh pains and agonies of the yet-raw happening. For the moment, we must focus on whatever Life, in all of Her loving kindness and omnipotent wisdom, has prepared for our Future.

So, My Darling Friend, when I see that Table of tempting treats and delicacies served up in your Tomorrow, I have made it my personal mission to step in the path of anyone or anything that would wish to remind you of your past miseries and lessen the awaiting joys of the feast, that Life has served up for you. I will fight any fight to lift you above the grasp of all influences that want you to walk in the muck of well-forgotten waste and experiential-effluent. You have dealt with … and are rising above all that has served its purpose.

I bid you an unfettered "Welcome!" to Life's Grand Buffet. Take your time. Dwell a while. And remember ... not everything is to the taste of everyone. Listen to Life's gentle, caring, and loving guidance of your own lovely Inner You. It is what makes You the Blessing that you are to me. [smile]

Bon Appétit!

(PS As I promised when I offered Last Saturday's Post, these are some of those thoughts that swirled about in my funky mind as I offered the 3 sets of Images there. I hope and trust that Life directs this bit to that special Someone who has a ready 'appetite' for it. [smile])

Breakfast

2010-02-22T09:43:00.006-05:00

Mom and I shared a Pizza, last Saturday night, as we enjoyed the Winter Olympics together. She lives less than 10 minutes from Dav and Heather's home in Land-O-Lakes (14 miles North of my cottage.) Thanks to the lovely generosity of D&H, I have the use of their sweet little Honda Civic whilst I am Home/Pet sitting for them. Hence the nightly visits with Mom over the past 4 nights.

"So," you may ask, "what has any of this to do with 'Breakfast'?" Well, my Dear Friend, here 'tis. Let your mind conjure an image of a skillet warming on the stove at 'medium-high' heat ... a nice splash of extra-virgin olive oil and a pat of unsalted butter getting to know each other, on an intimate basis, therein ... the toppings (Italian sausage, pepperoni, onion, mushroom, tomato sauce, cheeses, and peppers) from a slice of the aforementioned pizza scraped from their pizza crust ... into the now-sizzling pan ... and 2 lovely eggs broken over the entirety.

All, of this, heating, blending, and emitting aromas that would enchant the Angels on high ... whilst the eggs cook to a nice soft-scramble. Then, from the toaster-oven, the now-crispy pizza crust is placed on a plate and has its topping-companions reintroduced to it. Taa-Daa! Breakfast. [happy grin]

PS: How is this for a View? (from D&H's back yard ... over which I look as I enjoy Breakfast on the patio shown in earlier photos.) Ahhhh!

I bid You, My Darling Reader, the very best of days ('cause I am thinking about how much I love You ... Yes I Am!)

A Place for Our Mind to Dwell

2010-02-20T15:26:00.011-05:00

I had a lengthy chat with One who is very dear and precious to me. This lovely Being was vexed by a 'Friend's insistence on constantly bringing up names and incidents that have hurtful and unhappy histories attached to them.

How do I explain to this darling One the fact that ...
Some choose to dwell ...

... when, with the same effort, they could be ...

They elect ...

over ...

Yes! I know. It seems incomprehensible (at best)
that with ...

served up and ready ...

There are folks who prefer to focus on ...

As you can guess, I will be addressing this topic
(at some greater length)
in a Post, to follow.

[smiling]

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

2010-02-14T11:40:00.005-05:00

by Michael Fry and T Lewis

(Please CLICK On The Cartoon for FULL SIZE)

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Under the "Take a Moment Tree"

2010-02-05T07:15:00.006-05:00

Today, I am drawn to the subject, yet again. So, come … please join me, here, under the “Take a Moment Tree” … and I will share with You, Dear Reader, what this matter of “Accountability” means to me.

I am accountable to Life for the answer to THE big question ... namely, “How good a job did you do, and/or are you doing, at BEing John-Michael?" Not, “What titles did you hold?” nor "What roles did you play?” nor "What offices did you fill?" No question of "How much?" of anything, will determine the success of my short while on this earth. Just "How did you respond to, and use, that unique Treasure (including its particular set of gifts) that is the individual Design, by which you were lovingly created?”

That is the scale upon which I am weighed, day by day, and through eternity. So I am compelled to respond, without reservation, to each opportunity served to me each day in the knowledge that all things are under the control of the Creator of it all. And each, of those opportunities, has a purpose. I do not want to disappoint my Self ... deprive that Person... or lessen the value of that experience, by withholding any part of Me, from each moment.

For example, there was the occasion when I pulled over to the curb and exchanged salutations with the lady who was walking her dog in the early-morning, before-preparation-for-work, pre-dawn stillness. (This is the time that folks are accustomed to seeing the newspaper delivery guy [me] who had [at the time of this happening] been there every day for the prior fifteen years.) We shared comments about now-forgotten things, and then (in response to the urging of my "Still, Small, Inner Voice") I said something like "Please forgive my intrusion, but I detect, in your tone, an obvious lack of enthusiasm for the job that you plan to engage yourself in today."

This is the moment when Life rewards my courage with an affirmation that I have ventured onto "prepared soil". The lady began to unreservedly reveal her unhappiness with both of the jobs that she felt herself trapped into. Like so many today, her economic requirements necessitated her working more than one job and, like many, if not most, she found no satisfaction in either of hers.

I then revealed to her the possibilities available through career counseling and gave her some examples of successes that I have known personally. I explained the functions of some of the testing tools available, to assist in evaluating one’s preferences, proclivities, talents, and individually innate inclinations … and illustrated the ways in which the test results can be translated into a satisfying and even enjoyable career.

Some months later, in response to my passing wave, she stopped me and told me that she had decided to follow through on researching options for herself. Still many months later, I saw a "U-Haul" trailer in the street with several people engaged in the never-enviable task of moving-day labor. To my surprise, the lady flagged me down (I didn’t even know that she lived there) and announced "I took your advice. As a result of the testing and counseling that I pursued, I am (as you can plainly see) moving to a new location to begin a new career that is the fulfillment of my dreams. Thank you for your advice. You gave me encouragement, hope, and a plan"

I went my way and she hers without even knowing each other's names. All that matters is that I gave Life an opportunity to let that young lady know that there was a waiting and ready potential for something special for her life. And all that was required of me was the willingness to allow Life to use the experience and knowledge acquired over my personal life-walk, and offer it to this person who was both ready for it, and receptive to it. Her life was transformed ... and I am forever blessed.

So, you see, My Dear Friend, willingness, availability, and receptiveness are the only requirements for us to be of immediate and tangible service to that world that is all around each of us ... moment by moment, through each day that is given to us. And in participating in these opportunities, we can make our world a bit better ... person by person ... experience by experience ... you and I … living in loving sensitivity, to our own personal world, can change life for the better.

I invite you to be bold, open, and alive in the moments of your life. And, as we look into each of our personal, intimate, and private "mirrors" of reflection, we can know that we have responded appropriately to those gifts presented to us by Life. In those fleeting opportunities that were given to us ... that we responded to Life’s summons to Be that unique individual that was needed in that fleeting moment. And that we embraced our personal calling for or own Accountability ... to ourselves ... to that other Soul ... and to Life.

Please trust me ... it’s great fun!

IMAGE: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com